


the ties that bind

by mallory



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cocky Sebastian, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, Snarky Reader, Unrequited Love, other characters not listed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: No words can portray the amount of loathing you have for your college frenemy Sebastian Stan. From the moment you first met, you’ve always felt something vicious stirring in you every time he flashes you his cocky smirk. Three years after college, you run into him again and things heat up a different way, but between the snark and great orgasms, you don’t expect sincere conversation and actually enjoying his company—and fuck, are you starting to havefeelingsfor this guy? Shit.(Note:Reader sometimes wears dresses/skirts, and is gender and anatomically ambiguous.)





	1. the one with the thorn in your ass

**Author's Note:**

> A 2016 fic that stalled during the Great Procrastination of 2017. For those who remember, the fic was originally titled as ‘to tear apart the ties that bind’ (from ‘Do Me a Favour’ by Arctic Monkeys), and the first two chapters are rewritten.
> 
> All characters will be actors (except for the OC Paige whose physical appearance is open to your own interpretation/preferences), connected to Sebastian through a bit of six degrees of separation.
> 
> For those only interested in the porn, they’re in chapters three, a bit of four, and five.

You gape. “You’re leaving me?” As Jessica downs her drink and picks up her purse, you catch sight of the message on her phone.

**Home in 15 xo**

“I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency.” Jessica plants a kiss on your cheek. “Bye!”

“It’s not an emergency,” you shout after her, “you’re just horny!”

The people around you give you amused looks, and your face heats up as she laughs. She heads to the door leading out of Renner’s Pub, and without turning back, she waves a hand over her head.

You grumble under your breath and return to your drink. Your best friend never would have ditched you for her partner. Then again, Paige didn’t show up tonight because of a guy. That girl is making the most of her twenties. If she isn’t running around getting coffee and being a superstar personal assistant, she’s out with a new guy every weekend. The longest relationship she’s ever had was sophomore year in college, when she had a year-long relationship with a friend of yours—the term friend used _generously_ here.

You can’t fault them for living their lives. Especially Jessica for jumping at the chance to be with her girlfriend. Between their hectic schedules, their alone time are few and far between. You’re just being cranky you’re left alone on a Saturday night. Granted, in a great little Irish pub with a homely atmosphere thanks to the warm glow of lights that hang from the ceiling and the deep reddish-brown wood panelling walls that match the floorboards and furniture. The wall of liquor bottles behind the bar seem to blend into the wall (or it does the more you stare blankly at it).

It feels homey and familiar.

The patrons don’t bother you—unlike the college bars your friend Laura used to drag you to, and the atmosphere in here is subdued, broken up only by quiet chatter, clinking of glass and cutlery, and the occasional cracking of pool balls and laughter from the game room in the back.

But still. You came out to be social, but the only person who’s occasionally keeping you company is Tom, the busy bartender. And your drink. You slam back the last of it—

“ _Pisi_.”

—and almost die choking on it at the sound of _his_ voice.

Cue humiliating hacking.

Hunching your shoulders, you rub at your collarbone in an attempt to appease the burning in your throat and lungs.

He whacks your back, but you wave him off with an angry swipe—only for your fingers to land into the small bowl of ketchup on the counter beside you.

_God, could this night get any worse?_

“Hey!” The man the ketchup belongs to gives you the stink eye before grabbing his plate of sweet potatoes and moving to another seat.

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze after him, but that only agitates your throat and you end up in another coughing fit. The next time you righten yourself, it’s to see, through watery eyes, Paige’s ex smirking in the vacated high chair next to you.

Sebastian Stan; AKA the thorn in your ass.

“Your sex appeal blows me away.” He only laughs at your glower and waves down Tom. “Water.”

If you could talk without croaking like a fifty-year-old nicotine addict, you’d retort with some witty line about sex and blowing. Instead, you sit there holding your ketchup-stained fingers like a surgeon with sterilised hands.

Sebastian hands you a napkin from the dispenser in front of you.

Pulling a face, you wipe the condiment from your fingers as Tom comes back with a bottle of water and concern creasing his brows. “You all right?”

You nod then take grateful but careful sips.

All the while, Sebastian watches you with a ghost of a smirk. His cheeks are fuller and eyebrows tidier. And the pink tinge around the skin of his eyes that made him look like a stone are gone.

“Better?” he asks

Clearing your throat, you nod again. “What are you doing here?”

“I come here all the time.”

Great. Of all the freaking places you chose in this goddamned city, it has to be his stomping grounds.

“It’s my birthday, you know.”

“Happy birthday.” When he smiles at you, as if he’s taken the polite wish for more than it actually is, you tack on, “I see you couldn’t be bothered to dress up for the occasion.” You gleam at his attire. Day-old facial hair and his usual t-shirt, black skinny jeans and boots combo that looks like he’s been wearing for two days straight. “You look like an old hobo.”

“A sexy hobo, thank you very much.” His own eyes run down your frame, taking in your summer dress and sandals.

You narrow your eyes as he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. The longer he looks at you that way, the stronger the urge to squirm in your seat. It’s only when you clear your throat does his eyes return to yours, and he smirks at your expression.

Sebastian jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “The owner’s a friend, you know. If you aren’t nice to me I could get you kicked out.”

You feign shock, but drop it when he wiggles his eyebrows. Ugh, it’s so obvious he’s trying to get a rise out of you, and you’re not going to sit here and fall prey. The night’s already a bust anyway. May as well go home, get in some comfy clothes and binge watch your favourite show. “You don’t need to kick me out. I’m leaving.” You pull out your wallet to cover your bill plus tip.

“Why don’t you come back to the private room? My party’s in there. It’s mostly people from work, but you know everyone.”

“No thanks, I’m good.” You’ve always made it a point to spend as little time with Sebastian as you could, which was tough in college since you were in the same friend group, bonded in the creative writing workshop you all took. Now that you’ve graduated three years ago, it’s been easier to avoid him, since the five of you are too busy with your new adult lives for a proper reunion.

“If you’re leaving I’ll have my birthday kiss now.” He puckers his lips.

Laughing, you hop off the chair, careful the skirt of your dress doesn’t ride up. “You can kiss my ass.”

“You’d like that,” he croons, following after you past the tables and booths toward the door. “How’re you getting home?”

You dig into your bag for your phone. “Uber.”

“Nah, I’ll drive you.”

“No”—you spin around to face him—“I mean, thank you, but no.” When he insists, jangling his car keys in your face, you grab it and the jagged metal bites into your skin. “You have a party of people waiting for you.”

He shrugs and waves a careless hand. “They’ll do fine without me for twenty minutes. I bet they won’t even notice I’m gone.” As if on cue, a muffled commotion bursts from behind the closed door. “See? C’mon. My car’s parked on the street. You still live in that shit apartment near that pizza place, right?”

It’s useless to protest now without sounding out-right rude, so you follow him out of the air-conditioned pub and into the warm summer night.

He ambles down the busy footpath, people practically parting for him. You get caught in his wake, dodging people and almost crashing into a woman walking toward you because she stops to look back at him.

Sebastian turns then and catches your eye. He holds out a hand, fingers curling and head jerking impatiently.

The woman gasps, and you glance from him to her. Your brows jump. She thinks he’s gesturing to _her_. You don’t know whether or not to laugh. After all, _you’re_ the one who has to sit in an enclosed space with him.

Puffing your cheeks, you step out from behind her and hurry toward him. You’re tempted to sneak a peek at her reaction, but then Sebastian grabs your hand and tugs you along.

He doesn’t let go until his black ’69 Ford Mustang is within sight, and he opens the passenger door for you.

It smells the same—leather, his cologne and cigarettes, and getting a whiff of it takes you back to cruising over New York bridges with Laura singing at the top of her lungs; Chace making fun of you on the drive back from the ice-skating rink during sophomore winter break because your ass was still wet from the spill you took, and Sebastian complaining you’d ruin his leather; that god-awful night you drove through the city looking for Paige, sick to your stomach that she might’ve been hurt.

It’s not until you stop at a traffic light a block away does he bring her up. “How’s Paige?”

You eye his faint profile in the glow of the street lights that awash the interior of his car. Shadows creep across his face as the car starts moving again.

Is that why he offered to drive you home? He wants to gleam how she’s doing post-college? Possibly float the idea of getting back together. The thought stirs something vicious in you, and you push your shoulders back against the leather seat.

“Fine,” you say through clenched teeth. “She’s moved on just fine without you. Better than fine, actually. She’s _great_.”

There. Let’s see him try and worm his way back into her life now.

Sebastian smiles. Smiles! “I’m glad.”

Glad? _Glad_?! What the hell are you supposed to do with that? “G-Good.” You grimace.

He flicks on the indicator at an intersection. “What about you?”

You glance out your window at the buildings that trickle by before blurring with the city lights as he accelerates. “I’m doing perfect without you.”

He laughs. “No, I mean what’s up with you? You’re still at Wen Publishing, right? How’s that going?”

Your head snaps around. He remembered? “Fine.”

Sebastian meets your gaze with a teasing smile. “Fine, not great?”

You make an amused sound through your nose. “Just fine. What about you? What are you up to these days?”

He shrugs. “Nothing much, really. Mostly work. Got a full-time gig at Marvel Magazine.”

“Seeing anyone?”

He smirks at you from the corner of his eye. “You offering?”

“I’d rather eat a bug.”

He snorts. “You couldn’t handle me anyway, _pisi_.”

“I can handle you just fine. But a person can only _tolerate_ so much ego.”

He pulls up to your crappy apartment building like it was just yesterday he and Chace were helping you move in.

You open the door to flood light into the small space. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nods once, flitting a hand through his hair. “Yeah, any time.”

You’re about to bite back with _Not likely_ but instead lick your lips, and his eyes drop to your mouth. His nostrils flare, and you swear his pupils dilate. Swallowing, you unbuckle your seatbelt; the sound of the fabric slinking back muted from the blood pulsing through your ears. “Okay. Well, bye.”

“I’ll walk you to your door.” This time he doesn’t give you a chance to protest; he vaults from the car and heads up to the building, leaving you to clamber after him. As soon as you slam the car door shut, Sebastian—not even looking back—lifts the key fob over his head and engages the locks.

There’s nothing but the sound of your footsteps as you both climb the dingy stairs to your fifth-floor apartment. He leads the way to your door located at the end of the hallway, housed beside the emergency exit.

You dig in your bag for the keys. “Thanks again.” You unlock the door, expecting him to turn around and leave. But he just stands there with his hands shoved in his jean pockets.

Is he seriously going to make you give him a birthday kiss?

… Well, he did give you a ride home. _And_ he walked you to the door, safe, sound and without annoying you.

With a sigh, you step forward and move to kiss his cheek—only, he turns his head into you and you get the corner of his prickly mouth. You inhale and jerk back.

(He smells like the bar, but the stale scent is wrapped around his cologne; something spicy and strangely soft, like lavender.)

His eyes flutter as his tongue, pink and wet, pokes out and licks at the spot where your mouth had been. And something about that is so… _sexy_ , you find yourself drifting forward and kissing the other corner, just to see if—His tongue sweeps out to the other corner. His lips shine under the ugly fluorescent lights. Inviting you. _Enticing_ you.

Thick breaths puff out between the two of you, almost like a heartbeat in its out of sync rhythm. Your face heats up as the weight of his stare bears down on you, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth to say something when he grabs you and hauls you flush against him. His tongue plunges into your mouth before your lips even touch.

He is relentless; exploring the recesses of your mouth like Nancy Drew on a mystery. His scruff burns your skin, but the sensation only boils your need for him.

Sebastian walks the both of you until your back hits the door and shoulder wedges against the frame. One hand slips from your waist to cup the side of your face as he all but devours you. He thrusts his hips, pressing the bulge between his thighs against you.

God, you want it. To feel him pushing into you, over you; filling you up and pounding you until you’re almost tearing apart at the seams.

He wrenches away. Hot, heavy breaths puffing against your face. His pupils have almost eclipsed the blues of his eyes, and he looks crazed with lust. “Are you wet for me, baby?”

You’re too breathless to answer, but you don’t have to because his fingers drive under your dress and skim up and down the crotch of your underwear. You jerk against him as he presses against your throbbing clit. Pleasure surges throughout your body, and your thighs clench together, trapping his hand there.

_Yes. Fuck, yes._

His fingers work you over as his mouth latches onto your neck, and he sucks hard at your pulse.

You make an embarrassingly loud sound, arching into him.

He nips at your chin. “Inside.”

“What?”

“Before someone sees us, let’s go.” He pulls you from the door and inside the dark apartment. “Is your roommate home—what’s her name?”

You fumble for the light switch. “Um, Chloe. She’s at her boyfriend’s place.” After a couple embarrassing attempts with your hands scraping against the bare brick wall, the apartment floods to life behind you.

Before you can turn to face him, Sebastian presses up against you from behind, arms wrapping around you. Heat rolls off of him in waves, and your skin pricks with sweat.

He brushes his lips along the shell of your ear, and you laugh at the ticklish scrape of his scruff. You feel the press of his smile against the side of your head. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Turning around in his embrace, you’re about to riposte, but the earnestness in his eyes stops you. It’s a side to him you’re not used to, and it’s jarring.

Especially when he pecks your lips and smiles at you sweetly. Lines carve into his face, bracketing the corners of his mouth.

This is _Sebastian_. Paige’s ex. The man you’ve loathed since the moment you met him.

Your hands fall to his shoulders and slide down his t-shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric. With a soft push, you swallow. “We can’t.”

He frowns, thumbing your sensitive mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Paige.”

He glances over his shoulder at the open plan apartment; the small kitchenette across the apartment and cramped living area by your right, then back to you, still with the same concerned crease in his brows.

You shake your head and let your hands fall by your sides.

“[Name], it’s okay.” He rubs your arm, but you flinch away from him.

“No, it’s not.” You push yourself firmer against the wall. “I’m sorry. Please—Please leave.”

Sebastian studies you, and you hate that your skin erupts with goosebumps under his attention. “Are you sorry because of Paige… or because it’s me?”

Both.

Either.

You swallow.

If you met for the first time tonight and you only know him as the kind of guy to leave his own birthday party to drive and walk you safely back home. If you only know him as the passionate, earnest kisser, instead of the man with potent eyes and that perpetual condescending look about him. As if he thought everything was _cute_ and beneath him. Especially you.

But it doesn’t matter either way. It doesn’t matter because Paige _did_ date him, and he will always be hers. First and only.

He repeats your name, impatience pulling his features taut.

No matter your answer, it’s not going to be good enough for him. It’s certainly not enough for you.

You shake your head, dropping your gaze. “Just go,” you whisper. “Please.”

He sighs. “Okay, fine. But this isn’t over.”

He locks the door before leaving, but you’re sure that’s not why he slams the door closed behind him.

You have to tell Paige what happened. What you did. There’s no question she’s going to be upset. She was never quite the same after they broke up. You don’t know what happened, but she must still have feelings for Sebastian. Why else has she been jumping from guy to guy since?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Bonus’ scenes follow each chapter. Set in college and will be told in reverse chronology; starting from senior year and ending with the first meet. They’re supplements for the main story and aren’t needed to enjoy the main story.
> 
> These scenes are exclusive to discord members, and if you’re interested, you can [join here](https://discordapp.com/invite/8nbc6Rw)(note: you’ll need to create an account). (You can also find images of characters in the fic who may not be as easily recognisable by name. Otherwise, you can use your own imagination.)


	2. the one where we’re just friends

You tiptoe into Paige’s small studio apartment the next morning like guilt is stuck to the bottom of your shoe. You committed sin last night—sweet, toe-curling sin. For penance, your mouth aches from the beard burn, and the angry hickey on your neck insists on outshining the heavy concealer trying to eclipse it.

It’s time for confession.

“P?”

You cross the sitting area as she pokes her head out from behind the partition that separates her bedroom from the rest of the apartment. She smiles and steps out, adjusting her ponytail. “Hey! Are you okay? You sounded weird on the phone.”

“Um, I have something to tell you.” You meet her at the kitchen island.

“Me too.” She bites her lip, toying with her seashell necklace. “My boss wants to take me with her to Paris.”

“Paige, oh my god!” You draw her into a hug. She’s a few inches taller so she slumps a little as her arms wrap around you tight. “That’s _amazing_.” She’s been vying for a chance to prove to her boss that she’s more than a personal assistant, and this is her big chance. You pull away and smile. “This is a huge opportunity! When do you leave?”

“September fifth.” She grabs your hand, gripping it between the both of hers. “It’s for three months, though.”

“So what? It’s not like there’s anything here holding you back.”

Her eyes brighten, and she holds your hand to her thumping chest. “Come with me.”

“What?”

She grins. “Come with me to Paris.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t just skip work.”

“Just say you have a sick relative or something. Three months in Paris—I mean, think how amazing that would be. All the fashion shows, the _shopping_. We’ll be in the city of love.” A dreamy smile crosses her face as she plays with your fingers, her eyes straying. They land on your neck and a frown mars her features. “Is that a hickey?”

You cover the bruise with a wince. “Oh, yeah… I was going to tell you.”

She pulls away, mouth set in a thin line, as if she _knows_ you’ve hurt her.

Blood is crashing in your ears, and the pulse in your throat is thick and heavy. “Um… I was going to tell you. I ran into him on his birthday and we—” You pull a face. “We kind of hooked up.”

“Who?”

“Sebastian.”

Her brows jump. “Stan?”

“It was a huge, stupid mistake. It sort of just… I’m really sorry, I—”

She laughs, but it’s abrupt and harsh. “Why are you sorry? It’s not like you betrayed me. We’re just friends,” she mutters.

“But I thought… You guys dated.”

“We never dated. It was just sex.” She crosses her arms.

Her words say one thing, but her actions say another.

“P… It’s okay if you still have feel—”

“I don’t. Go ahead. Fuck him, date him, kill him. I don’t care.”

Your eyes widen, and you touch her elbow. “Paige.”

Her shoulders drop and she sighs. “Sorry, I—” She smiles and it’s all teeth. “I want you to be happy. Besides, I guess now we’re even, kind of.”

You squint. “What?”

She blinks. “Jay… You know what? Never mind. Let’s celebrate, you and me. Drinks on Saturday?” she asks, voice high and chipper.

“Um, sure.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Late Monday morning, you’re inputting some information at work and still on edge about what happened over the weekend.

Something didn’t feel right about Paige. Now you know for sure something happened with Sebastian.

—And _god_ , you hooked up with Sebastian Stan! What the fuck were you thinking? As if it isn’t enough that he’s a prick, but he had to be the best kiss you’ve had since Bryan?

You should call Paige. Make sure she’s really okay. She tends to do stupid things when she’s upset.

You grab your phone and dial her number. The tone rings as you head to the empty break room. Her voicemail sounds and you hang up. She may be busy with work, so you send her a quick text to call you when she can.

You’re making yourself a cup of tea when your phone rings. Pouring the water into your mug with one hand, you answer it with the other. “Finally!”

“See,” a deep voice croons, “if I knew you were waiting by the phone for me, I would’ve come by yesterday to finish what we started.”

You grip the handle of the kettle tighter and close your eyes. _Great. Just great._ “Sebastian.”

“Wanna have lunch together?”

“No, it’s not a good idea.”

“It’s not a _bad_ idea.”

“I was just being polite. It’s actually a horrendous idea.”

He snorts. “Well then, you’re gonna have to come down and tell me because I’m outside your building.”

You narrow your eyes. “Liar.”

He laughs, and the sound rolls in waves through your body. “You’re just going to have to see for yourself when you get down here.”

“Are you really?”

“No, but I can be in five. Say the word.”

You open your mouth to tell him to fuck off, but what comes out is: “Okay.”

The chuckle that tickles your ear is husky with arrogance.

This is your chance to tell him that _that_ , whatever it that night was, cannot happen again. It wouldn’t be enough to tell him over the phone. He needs to see your face and how serious you are. See the unimpressed scowl reserved just for him throughout college.

You wait eleven minutes, just to make his ego sweat it out a little so you don’t suffocate if you get too close. Not that you will—get close. It’d be too dangerous. For him, that is. You can control yourself.

It cannot happen again.

He’s leaning against the bench just outside your building, with his usual too-cool-for-this-place slouch. But in place of a smug smirk, there’s something else in his expression that gives you pause.

Your shoulders fall and a smile starts to tug at the corners of your mouth. You can’t place it, it’s not exactly—

“Move,” someone says on a grunt, brushing right up against you as he passes by.

_Ah, New York._

Sebastian laughs.

Frowning, you hurry to his side. As you approach, he uncurls his arms and wraps them around you in a hug. Your brows raise and you freeze. The leather jacket is cool against your cheek, but his hands radiate heat through the back of your shirt.

Sebastian’s scratchy cheek scrapes across yours, and you inhale and grab his waist to steady yourself. With a kiss to your cheek, he steps back and smiles at you. “You came.”

 _Way to go, Captain Obvious._ You tilt your head back and watch him through half-lidded eyes. “It’s eighty degrees, why are you wearing a jacket?”

“’Cause I’m cool.” He winks, rolling his shoulders under the jacket.

You snicker and roll your eyes.

“Where do you want to eat?”

You shrug. “Where’s a good place?”

Ten minutes later, you’re seated in a nice little sandwich shop tucked away in a busy little neighbourhood and enjoying a sub.

Or trying to enjoy it, anyway. Fuck, it’s so awkward. Here you are, having lunch with your frenemy slash best friend’s (apparently) ex-fuck buddy—whom you made out with and let _touch_ you—like it’s no big deal. What are you even supposed to do now? _How_ are you supposed to act?

“ _Pisi_.”

You lift your head up from your sub for the first time since sitting down, and you almost don’t hate that you acknowledge that stupid nickname.

“Why aren’t you insulting me?” He tilts his head, arms braced on the little table between you.

“Do you want me to insult you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, no. But you’re being weirdly quiet.”

It’s not like you ever sought out his company and willingly chat with him.

The neon ‘OPEN’ sign on the window above his head buzzes as the lights flicker.

You shift. “Are we _friends_ now?”

“We’ve always been friends.”

You resist the urge to snort, and take a sip from your drink.

He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Speaking of, you still keep in touch with anyone from college?”

“Jess, mostly. I still message Laura here and there. I hear you two work together now?” Laura mentioned they have dinner sometimes, since he gets to go to all the cool restaurants, bars and clubs in New York City and write about it.

“Yeah. She’s currently writing an article about whether or not having an orgasm every day for a month will improve your skin.”

“Aw, just like she’s always dreamed as a little girl.”

He laughs. “And what about you? Always wanted to go into publishing?”

“I wanted to be a rockstar but don’t know how to play any instruments. I’ve always wanted to learn the guitar.”

He props a hand on his chin. “Why haven’t you?”

“I mean, my last boyfriend taught me a little, but.” You shrug. “Time, I guess. And money. What about you? What was your dream?”

“I wanted to get into acting, actually.”

You grin. “Were you in the drama club in high school?”

“I was. I even went to summer acting camp.”

“So what was it that gave you the acting bug? Please say _Grease_.” You laugh, just thinking about beard-less Sebastian as Danny Zuko prancing around his school’s stage, wearing his little leather jacket and crooning about those summer nights.

He gives you a sardonic grin. “ _Harvey_.”

Conversation shifts freely and smoothly as your lunch continues. He walks you back to your building and swipes a hand across his mouth. “See, lunch with me wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

You roll your eyes and, despite yourself, smile. “Shut up.”

Before you part ways at your building, he pats you on the head. You jerk back and swat his hand away. He simply laughs and does something that catches you so off-guard it takes a moment for your brain to catch up as he walks away.

You stare after him like an dumbfounded idiot and bring a hand up to your cheek where he kissed you.

Later that night, you text Paige a ‘Hey’ and fall asleep without a reply.

The next day, Sebastian takes you to lunch again, and you eye him as he slurps his Phở.

All this time you thought they were dating. It’s hard to believe they never developed feelings for each other, especially when she got sloppy drunk the night after she and Sebastian broke things off. You had to cut your date short because she called you, begging you find her. It doesn’t make sense for her to act that way if she didn’t have feelings for him back then.

Paige’s reaction in her apartment seemed harsh.

_Go ahead. Fuck him, date him, kill him. I don’t care._

Maybe something happened. Is there bad blood between them?

He gestures to your bowl. “Is it good?”

“Are you trying to get back at Paige through me?” you ask. “Is this… What is this?”

His face pinches. “She has nothing to do with us. Frankly, I’m offended that you think I’d do that.”

“But you…” What are you supposed to say to that?

He puts his chopsticks down. “We fucked in college, I can’t change that.” There’s an intensity in his eyes that’s so similar to the night he drove you home. A fierceness that has you squirming in your seat. “But if that’s all you’re going to think of me as—the guy Paige screwed around with—then that’s all I’ll ever be to you.”

The rest of your meal is quiet, as if he’s giving you time and silence to ponder his words. Back in front of your building, when he kisses your cheek again, you grab his hand before he can walk off. “Did you love her?”

His head jolts back, as if your words are a physical blow to the face. “Jesus.”

You don’t even know why you ask—it wouldn’t be any easier if he didn’t, and you wouldn’t even be standing here if he did. You shake your head. “Forget it. I’m sorry.”

“No, I didn’t love her. Paige was hot and it was convenient, having someone around without going through the effort of finding someone to impress just to bang for the night.”

“Charming.”

“It’s what we both wanted. At the beginning, at least.” He squeezes your fingers—not only are you still holding onto his hand, but your fingers are intertwined with his. “I didn’t have those kinds of feelings for her. That’s why I ended it.”

After work on Wednesday, you meet Paige for a hump day treat at her favourite Boba tea shop. She sighs as she stabs the plastic seal with her straw. “There were no feelings, okay? Can we please not talk about you and him?” She takes a sip of her milk tea. “Tell me about your day.”

By Friday afternoon, Sebastian kisses you on the cheek in what’s alarmingly become routine, but instead of heading off to his own building, he shoves his hands into his jean pockets and drags his gaze down your frame. “What are you doing tonight?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

“I’ll take that as ‘nothing.’ I’m taking you out on a real date.” He babbles on about something about the magazine and cheeseburgers but you’re not listening anymore.

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘date’? Since when the fuck are we _dating_?”

He raises a brow. “So you’ll let me finger you in public but you won’t date me?”

Your face heats up and you grab his arm, tugging him off to the side of the entrance and back him into the corner. “ _Semi_ -public!” you hiss. Like that makes any difference. “And no. No date. In fact, no more of-of whatever _this_ is.”

“Why?”

“ _Why_?! Paige is my _best friend_. She _literally_ kicked Stephen Nguyen’s ass in high school because he called me a bitch. We spent one whole summer at the community pool because I had a crush on Lifeguard Jake. She _hates_ swimming—”

He places his hands on your shoulders and you try not to stiffen under his touch. “Baby, I get it. But you’re blowing our fling way out of proportion. There were no feelings involved.”

There it is again. That term of endearment. He used it while he was… _frotting_ you, but you just figured it was because he was caught up in the moment, like you were; doing and saying things that you shouldn’t have.

But his eyes are clear and firm, looking at you head on and so earnest your chest aches.

Maybe he’s right. You were reading too much into things, and it was all in your head because you were so convinced all this time that they were romantically involved and afraid that you had hurt her.

“Fine.” You take a step back. “I’ll go to dinner. But call it a date again and I’ll punch you.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

“… leave tonight for the Hamptons. I’m really sorry, but they surprised me with it,” Paige says over the phone.

Your footsteps echo in the hall as you start digging for the keys to your apartment. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll celebrate next week.”

“Are you sure?”

You laugh. “Paige, have fun with your friends. You deserve it.”

“Okay. Next week, I promise—maybe we can get another hump day treat?”

“Sounds good.”

“Bye, love you.”

Your brows jump, but you manage a goodbye before she hangs up. You’ve been friends since high school, but she’s never once told you she loves you. Maybe it’s just a reflex; she farewells her parents with the quick, “Bye, love you.”

You’ve barely closed the door to your apartment when your phone buzzes again.

 **Idiot:** Wear something cool. Be there in fifteen.

You drop your bag on the kitchen counter.

 **Pisi:** Define cool

 **Idiot:** Anything but what you were wearing today

You scoff.

 **Pisi:** I’m not taking fashion advice from a guy whose closet palette is fifty shades of black

 **Idiot:** At least they all match  
 **Idiot:** Also: kinky  
 **Idiot:** Skip dinner and finish what we started? Believe I owe u an orgasm or two

You glance over your shoulder where Sebastian had you against the wall, the scrape of the brick at your back while his prickly beard dragged across your neck, your face while that mouth sucked and nipped, and his hands—

“What’s up, chickadee?” Chloe asks, walking into the kitchen area.

You lurch around and push the screen of your phone against your stomach. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Came to get some stuff.” She pulls out a carton of frozen yogurt and sidles up to you with two spoons, offering the second to you. She takes a deep breath. “It’s so nice to breathe air that doesn’t smell like old pizza.”

You laugh, placing your phone face down beside your bag. Austin wants them to move in together, but she doesn’t feel ready, so as a compromise she’s been sleeping there on a trial basis. “I take it it’s not going so well?”

She laughs through her nose, but it doesn’t sound amused. “Living with him is like watching how hotdogs are made—it’s disgusting. He is _the_ messiest piece of shit I’ve ever seen.”

You lean your elbows on the counter behind you as she pulls herself onto it and picks up the carton. “Did you say anything about it?”

She kicks her legs, creasing her sweatpants into the top of her prosthetic leg. “Only every time I step on what’s hopefully clean underwear.” She helps herself to a big dollop and speaks around the frozen treat. “So who’re you texting that’s got you all smiley?”

(At least, that’s what you think she says.)

You roll your eyes. “No one. Just a guy from college I ran into last week.”

“He hot?”

“You know him. Remember Sebastian? He and Chace helped me move in.”

“Wait, is he the one who gets this hangry look on his face every time he snuck looks at you?”

You pause with the spoon halfway to your mouth. “I’m sorry— _hangry_?”

“You know. Horny and angry?”

“That’s not what hangry means.”

“Oh. I always thought…” She shrugs. “Well, that’s what hangry should mean. Anyway. Is he the guy—the one with the leather jacket? I bet he’s rockin’ in bed.”

You throw the spoon into the sink and face her. “He’s annoying. And cocky.” When she grins, you add, “Don’t even. You’re better than that.”

“Oh, come on.” She wiggles her brows. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He— _God_ , he just pushes my buttons.”

“And _think_ of the sex.” She mimes an explosion.

You chuckle. “Yeah, I’m not talking about this anymore.”

“Fine.” She puts away the frozen yogurt. “You wanna order in tonight?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting back soon?”

She groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“I can’t anyway, um, I’m… going out for dinner.”

A smirk curls her lips. “It’s with him, isn’t it?”

“It’s… It’s _whatever_. Not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious. It’s just one dinner. After a few lunches. And a hook up—”

She gasps so loud and hard you’re surprised she isn’t coughing on air. “Shut the fuck up. You hooked up?! Tell me _everything_.”

Your cheeks heat up and you laugh a little breathlessly. “No. It’s… private.” Embarrassing. So hot that just thinking about it has you biting your lip.

She smirks. “That good, huh?”

A knock at the front door answers before you can, and she backs away from the counter with a gleam in her eye. “Your Prince Annoying has arrived. Let’s see what he thinks about _pushing your buttons_.”

You bolt after her. “Chloe, no!” You practically jump on her and wrestle her away from the door.

“Ouch! My leg!”

You step away and wince. “Are you okay?” But at her snicker, your jaw drops. “Fucking hell, stop doing that!”

“Oh, seriously? I can’t have _any_ fun?”

You push her back toward her bedroom. “Get packing. The Kingdom of Trash awaits,” you say and shut the bedroom door.

“I hate you!” comes her muffled shout.

You grab your things on your way back to the front door and whip it open to Sebastian’s amused face. “What just happened in there?”

“Nothing. Let’s go, yeah?”

He holds out a hand, which you slap away. You close the door firmly behind you and stalk past him, the sound of your shoes and his laugh echoing throughout the open stairwell.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Outside, Sebastian rushes ahead of you to open his car door, and you gleam his appearance for the first time under the streetlamp his car’s parked under. He’s clean shaven and his hair’s slicked back, like he not only bothered to drive a comb through it but also took time to style it with some kind of hair product. Under his leather jacket is a skinny tie and dress shirt, with dress pants and shoes.

He smooths down his tie. “Is this okay?” There’s an uncharacteristic hesitance in his voice.

“Did you come from a late meeting or something?”

“Dressed up just for you.”

“Oh.”

He raises his brows. “ _Oh_? That’s all you have to say? How do I look?”

“Good,” you choke out.

He grins, and before he can do anything else—like make fun of you—you get in the car, cheeks hot and heart insistent on jumping out of your chest.


	3. the one where you fuck

Sebastian takes you to a chic bistro in Brooklyn Heights with large open glass doors on each end of the restaurant, low-hanging lights over every indoor table, and wooden panel walls showcasing abstract art prints for pop of colour.

And it’s not enough that you feel overdressed and underpaid compared to the casual, upper-middle class vibe from the other patrons, but Sebastian keeps looking at you with smouldering eyes that make you feel naked inside and out.

It’s crazy that you’ve learned more about him in this past week than you did in the four years in college. He cries watching Pixar movies (which you teased him mercilessly about even though _Toy Story 3_ got you so bad), he wants to write a novel or screenplay one day, his parents divorced when he was two and his mother remarried when he was twelve, and—apparently—he quit smoking senior year of college.

“Now, you see,” you say, picking up your drink, “it’s been three years, and your car still smells like cigarettes. I don’t believe that.”

“Tobacco-scented.”

You snort. “Or you’re a liar. You used to smoke like a fucking chimney during finals. There’s no way you don’t light one up when you’re stressed.”

There’s something… attractive with how dishevelled he looks with his tie tucked into his dress shirt and sleeves rolled up and out of the way of his burger, which he puts down. “I wouldn’t lie. Especially to you.” The sincerity in his eyes takes you by surprise. It’s almost stifling, but you force yourself to meet his unwavering stare head on.

“I believe you.”

Sebastian smiles, softening his gaze. “How’s Paige?” He reaches for his beer, his eyebrows raising over the rim of his glass.

“Good. Busy.” You talked on the phone on your way home from work. She seemed distracted; her boss must be prepping her for their trip to Paris. “She wants me to go to Paris with her next month.”

“Are you going?”

“I can’t just drop everything for three months. I have a life here: work, friends, that Pilates class that’s kicking my ass.”

“And me.”

Your breath hitches, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

“You have me.”

Something in your chest shifts at the way he’s looking back at you; with his usual patronising leer, but it’s also tinged with something—that same something you saw earlier this week. It’s a lot like the way he looked at you that cool autumn night in junior year outside Paige’s off-campus apartment, where you broke down, and Sebastian collected your pieces until you were ready to build yourself back up.

Was it then when things shifted between you? From outright hostility to something softer; to grudging mutual acceptance.

You verbalise your musings, and triumph lights Sebastian’s face. “So you admit it.”

“I admit you’re _tolerable_. Must be the endurance of time.”

His eyes widen. “You’re not saying that one day you might actually”—he gasps—“ _like_ me?”

“It’s not humanly possible to live that long.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to try a little bit harder then, won’t I?” His eyes crinkle from the buoyancy of his smile. “I’ll wear you down one day, _pisi_.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Sebastian throws an arm around your shoulders as you stroll back to his car. “Let’s go to Renner’s. Chace said he’d be there.”

“I think I’m gonna go home.”

“It’s Friday night! Come on, one hour. I’ll let you hold my hand,” he sings, wiggling the fingers hanging from your shoulder.

Rolling your eyes, you grab them, and he takes that opportunity to intertwine them together. “I don’t feel like it tonight.”

“All right. Then is it cool if I drop my car off at your place? I plan on drinking.” The car lights flash as he unlocks it. “I’ll Uber home and pick it up tomorrow.” He spins you under his arm, walking you back until your ass hits the passenger door.

He draws in close and blocks you with hands on either side. Spicy lavender and aftershave fill your head and leave you breathless. You brace your hands on his chest, absorb his strength, his warmth.

“Or you could drop me off and pick me up later.” He slides a hand down the window frame and it lands on your hip. His thumb slips under your top to brush against your skin. “Just be careful with her.”

Your breathing stutters. “How would I get home?”

“You could sleep over. Finish what we started.” His breath hits your face as his hips pin you against the car. “Did you know I had to go home and take care of myself that night? I thought about the little sounds you made when I kissed you right”—his nose grazes along your neck—“here.” He nips your pulse, and your head falls back as a soft sound escapes.

You arch into him, fingers curling into the arms of his jacket.

He flicks his tongue against the shell of your ear. “Whaddaya say?”

You attempt to swallow, but your tongue seems to have grown two sizes too big.

“Yes, baby,” he whispers. “Say yes, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

You manage to open your mouth, but before you can attempt to say yes, he swoops down and sucks the breath from you in a kiss too passionate for a public setting. Yet you pull him impossibly closer, and his hands cup the sides of your head.

With a deep inhale, he breaks away. “Get in the car.”

You stumble forward, and he opens the door for you.

On the drive to your place, his wandering hand skims your inner thigh, climbing just high enough to get your breathing shallow before bringing it back to your knee. You last all of about four minutes of this before your own hand finds its way in his lap, and he’s swearing under his breath with two hands gripping the steering wheel.

As soon as he parks the car, you vault out and race into the building. He catches your wrist on the second floor, pushing you up against the railing to kiss your laughing mouth. On the third floor, he’s got his hand up your top, sucking on your neck. Your moans turn to a gasp of embarrassment when the door across the way opens to an elderly woman giving you the stink eye.

By the time you reach your door, you’re buzzing with arousal and trembling to get your hands on him. You pull the keys from your bag and fumble to fit it in the lock.

Sebastian slaps your ass and you yelp. You throw him a glare over your shoulder as he crowds you. “You know, you’re a jerk sometimes.”

“You say the sweetest things to me, _pisi_.” He nuzzles the back of your ear. “Just open the door already, would ya?”

“I mean it.” The door unlocks and you push it open. “You really irritate the shit out of me.”

He spins you, his arms around your lower back to press your hips together as he backs you inside. “That’s not something you want to hear right before fucking.”

Rolling your eyes, you close the door behind him and lead him by the hand through your dark apartment. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Hey.” He tugs you to a standstill, and the gloomy blue moonlight glowing through the balcony catches the hesitance on his face. “You know that if you don’t want to do this all you have to do is say so, right?”

You kiss him with hungry lips and a teasing tongue, until there’s no doubt in his mind how much you want this.

He moans, clutching you firm against him, and kisses you back just as fiercely.

You pull away with his bottom lip between your teeth. “Didn’t you say something about making me feel _so_ good?”

He growls, and for the next hour, that’s exactly what he does.

The first time you cum, it’s with his hand between your legs. He makes you squirm on your bed as he mutters dirty, terrible things into your ear about what he’s going do to you tonight.

You’re on the edge and desperate for something to anchor yourself. Fingers curl, stiff and piercing, into his pumping wrist just as you explode. Sweat erupts along your back, and you’re a shuddering mess, body locked up as you moan soundlessly, his name thick and stuck in your throat.

He smiles down at you, and with unexpected tenderness, wet lips smack quietly and coy tongues flirt in each other’s mouths. He kisses you nice and slow, fingers sifting through your hair as shivers rack your sensitive body in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

His hips grind into the side of your thigh, lips trailing down your neck.

You sigh and bury a hand into his hair as his teeth presses into your skin. Your other hand smooths down the arm lightly stroking you. “Mmm.”

His fingers are coated with you, and he shifts his hips to grip his hard erection with it. The seeping light teases you with fuzzy impressions of his hedonistic movements and facial expressions contorted with pleasure. Strong, wet fingers wrap around his thick length to give himself a few relieving pumps. Eyes flutter shut as his lips part, and a soft moan escapes.

You roll onto him and fit him between your legs.

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps, clasping your hips as you grind onto his throbbing cock.

You climb over him to your bedside table and return to straddle him. He watches you through hooded eyes as you prep for his entrance. His breathing picks up as you grip him, circling his head around your wet opening. You take him slow, his clammy hands supporting you as you get used to his thickness. You squeeze around him, and he stutters, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

“Fuck!” His heated gaze volleys between your face twisted in ecstasy and where you’re joined.

Full to the hilt, you pulsate around him, thighs squeezing his hips.

God, how is it possible to feel this good?

Sebastian caresses your sweaty skin, hands skimming up your back, down your front, across your taut thighs. “Do you think of me when you fuck yourself?”

You bite back a moan, rocking a little.

He grunts, lifting his hips. “Show me.”

You fuck him like a desperate jockey gunning for first place. You drop low, arms braced on either side of his head, hips moving together and breaths clashing. As you ride his lap, the heat in his words burn you alive, and absolute filth spews from those naughty lips:

“Fucking hell, _pisi_ —you were made for me.”

“So greedy for cum.”

“I’ve jacked myself thinking about this.”

“Gonna fuck you into space.”

—The last one makes you laugh, and he lets out a tortured groan.

Your thighs burn from the exertion, slowing your thrusts.

He flips you onto the bed with a growl. “My turn.”

Breathy grunts punctuate Sebastian’s rolling and steady glides. He’s held up by thick arms and hard thighs that nudge the back of your own, splayed out obscenely to welcome his heated ruts.

There’s nothing you can do but grab onto his waist and enjoy the ride.

His brows are lowered and scrunched with concentration, mouth open as sounds of pleasure escapes between huffs. It’s too dark to make out the iris’ of his eyes, but your skin pricks because you just know he’s staring right at you.

What does he see? How your face is twisted with lust, the sweat beading your upper lip? Your teeth as you bite your lower lip every time he grinds deep inside of you? How much you want him right here and now?

He stammers out your name and your thighs quiver. “Are you close?”

“ _Yes_.”

“What do you need?”

You. “Harder.”

He drops down low and drives into you hard and heavy. Your damp skin slap together as the bed trembles under you. “Fuck, fuck, come on, baby.”

You peak with his face pressed in your neck and your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

He grinds into you deeper and shoves a hand between you to rub you along, and you cum with his name staining your gasp. His rhythm speeds up, and he pounds into you through your release, desperate for his own climax.

You hook your legs over his working thighs and moan. “Cum for me.”

He forces out a stuttering groan as he throbs deep inside you, trembling under your soothing hands. He drops his forehead against yours, and his pants hit your chin.

Your thighs fall to the bed as you fling your arms out.

He kisses the side of your jaw as he experiments with a few light thrusts, but you both shudder—too sensitive.

Your overworked body tingles as he pulls out, and he falls onto the bed beside you.

“Shit,” he says on an exhale.

“I need a nap,” you mumble.

He hums, rolling to drape an arm across your middle. Lips meet your temple, and you close your eyes.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You wake from a pressure in your bladder. You’re draped across Sebastian, head on his left shoulder and fingers tangled with his on his right pec. Soft snores sound above your head, interrupted by a grunt as you pull away.

You relieve yourself in the bathroom and pad back, but stop at the threshold. Sebastian’s lying across the bed, face shoved into a pillow and arms pushed under it. The sheets are draped low on his hips, revealing the expanse of his smooth back and the beginning curve of his ass.

Oh wow. You could get used to this.

You crawl onto the bed, skimming a finger down his warm back, and he turns over to pull your weight onto his chest. You tease kisses across his cheeks, pulling back every time he sleepily tries to capture your mouth with his, like a cat swiping at a butterfly.

You smirk and his eyes flash. They track you as you blaze a trail down his hard body with hands and lips, pausing only to catalogue and exploit the sensitive spots where his breath hitches—nips on the pulse of his neck, swirling tongue around his dark nipples, fingers in the smatter of hairs under his navel. By the time you’re softly exhaling the large tent in the sheets, he’s panting and gripping your hair tight.

Sebastian moans your name, a hand pushing on your shoulder to urge you lower, but you resist. “Please.” It’s a breathless whimper, and damn if that’s not the sexiest thing.

You’ve reduced him to a speechless mess. Cocky, mouthy Sebastian Stan is writhing with equal parts torture and pleasure, mindless and _begging_ for you.

You take pity and pull the sheets away to wrap fingers around him. He falls apart under your touch; nimble fingers and rolling wrists, slippery tongue and suctioning lips.

Mindless sounds of pleasure fill your ears as he writhes underneath you. Fingers get lost in your hair, your name comes out in stammers, and he throbs in your mouth.

“Stop,” he says on a gasp, and he practically shoves you off him with a grunt. His big hand wraps around just under his swollen head, his index finger pressing against the underside as his eyes squeeze tight and he mutters curses. “Too close.”

You can’t help but laugh a little because he looks ridiculous, hunched over and desperately willing himself not to cum.

Sebastian throws you a look from under lowered brows, his chest heaving and hand falling away from his pulsing length. “You think that’s funny?”

You pinch your thumb and finger together. “Lil’ bit.” You can only yelp as he tackles you onto the bed and pins you down. He grinds against you, and your moan gets caught in your throat as you strain against him.

He nips your ear. “Payback time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget there are bonus chapters between on [the discord](https://discordapp.com/invite/8nbc6Rw)!


	4. the one with a surprise

You wake the next morning to the smell of eggs, and you throw on a clean shirt and a pair of shorts before padding out into the main area.

The sight that greets you feels nothing short of a dream, and you have to rub your eyes to make sure it’s real (as if the delicious soreness between your legs isn’t evidence enough). Sebastian stands in nothing but his boxer briefs at your kitchen stove, _cooking_. On the counter beside him sits two plates with avocado on bread.

“What are you doing?” you ask, and it comes out almost accusing.

He turns with a smirk. “Mornin’.” He scoops out sunny side up eggs from the pan and arranges them on the avocados. “I’m making breakfast. My specialty.” He sucks on his finger, and your sex throbs with the memory of a similar move last night.

“Is this supposed to impress me?” _’Cause it’s working._

With a tolerant smile, he holds out the plate. “Eat up, _pisi_.”

You follow him to the couch, and you both dig in, ravenous from last night.

After the second round, you could barely move, so Sebastian cleaned you up with a damp towel pressed to your sensitive flesh. He got the fan going to cool your heated skin, and you fell asleep to soothing fingers.

When you woke up hours later, it was with your head on his shoulder, cuddled in close for warmth. He reeked of sweat and sex—you both did—so you suggested a shower, where you lathered and felt each other up. It didn’t take long to get distracted, and he made you cum again with murmured filth in your ear and his fingers pulling embarrassing sounds from you as water cascaded over you both.

You worked up a sweat not two minutes after drying off, though, because round three happened on your bathroom sink with your legs hooked over his arms. You watched him fuck into you under the light; every nuanced twitch on his face, the way his muscles bunched, how his length shined every time he pulled out, only to bury himself back in for more. The sound of sex bounced off the tiled walls and echoed with your cries, and he came on your stomach, your name spilling from kiss-swollen lips. Exhausted, you both rinsed off and fell to bed, Sebastian curled around you from behind.

You set the empty plate on the coffee table and stretch, a yawn straining your mouth. “That was good.”

He stacks his plate on top of yours. “I’ll take my thanks in the form of a blowjob.”

“How about I don’t punch you for being a prick and _you_ thank me for my compassion.”

He presses his grin to your cheek, lips pursing slightly in a sweet peck. “Hmm.” His nose skims across your jaw to your chin, and through hooded eyes, he smiles at you. “You smell good.” A hand pinches a nipple through your shirt, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Really? Again?”

“What can I say? You’re irresistible.”

You laugh as he tackles you back onto the couch.

You end up making out like horny teenagers in danger of a parent walking in at any minute, and spend the morning talking, teasing and laughing between kisses.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this intimate and open with a lover, if you’ve ever been. You say as much in a shy mumble, expecting him to make fun of you, but your chest warms at the smile he gives you—no cocky smirk or taunting grin; it’s a genuine, sweet smile.

When lunch rolls around, he goes out to fetch pizza a block over while you shower. It’s a toasty day so you throw on a tank top and some cotton shorts, and when Sebastian comes back, he shucks off his clothes, and you settle on the bed with two plates and your laptop between you. He’s in the middle of a _Friends_ marathon so you’re signed into his Netflix account to watch with him.

Part of you thought he was scheming for the Netflix and chill euphemism, but he is completely invested in the show, even after the food is gone and you cuddle up to him. He simply puts an arm around you and settles further into the soft sheets, his laughter humming in your ears. From time to time, he’ll laugh and look over, like he’s curious if you’re enjoying the joke too, and it melts you from the inside out.

You wake with a jolt and your phone trilling for attention. Your laptop’s closed and pushed to the foot of the bed, and Sebastian’s snoozing with his back to you. The late afternoon sunlight casts a spotlight for the slow dancing dust particles.

You pull yourself out of the warm cocoon in your bed and reach for your phone on the bedside table.

“Hey,” Chloe chirps. “Trophy for Best Roomie in the World is currently up for grabs.”

You falling back onto your pillow. “What’s up?”

“Need your help. I am issuing a city-wide alert for an urgent assignment. Codename: The Cleansing. Locations: the mall and redacted. Are you up to the task?”

You laugh. “Are you asking me to go on a supply run to help clean Austin’s apartment?”

As Chloe bemoans about the state of the apartment and how she can’t live like this anymore, Sebastian rolls to you with a quiet murmur. He presses a drowsy kiss to your shoulder and curls a heavy arm around your waist as he fits his face against the side of yours.

“Um,” you mumble, “yeah, okay. But give me, like… twenty minutes.”

He nips your earlobe.

“I’m still in bed.”

“Seriously? It’s three.” She gasps. “You slut!”

“ _Chloe_.”

“He’s there, isn’t he? Ew, are you fucking right now?”

Sebastian snickers as you say, “I’m hanging up now. _God_.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Chloe answers the door with a flush on her cheeks and a determined smile. “Finally.” She calls back into the apartment, “Let’s get going. We’re burning daylight.”

Austin appears looking a little disgruntled, but the smile he flashes you lightens his expression. “Hey.”

You slap his offered hand in a high-five and return the greeting. On the elevator ride down, you mutter to her, “Sebastian’s downstairs.” He managed to wheedle his way into tagging along.

Her brows shoot up, but she doesn’t say anything—at least, not until you’re outside where he’s leaning against his car. His arms are crossed and a pair of sunglasses covers half his face while the other half is taken over by his scruff, but that doesn’t stop a smile from brightening his face when he spots you.

He kisses Chloe’s cheek with a, “Good to see you again,” and after Austin introduces himself, he shakes the man’s hand. “Hey, man. Sebastian.”

“[Name]’s boo,” Chloe adds with a sly smirk.

You’re about to pinch her, but Sebastian throws an arm around you and hauls you into his side, all the while commenting on Austin’s John Maus shirt. Like it’s nothing, like it’s natural, like… he’s your _boyfriend_.

You’re breathless, and your chest seems two sizes too small.

You take Austin’s car because it has more space for whatever Chloe’s planning to buy. Which is a good idea on Austin’s part because as soon as you get to Target, she starts running around and shoving cleaning supplies and home storage items into the cart while you all try to keep up with her.

As Chloe hems and haws between two shoe racks, Sebastian hooks his pinkie with yours. And it’s strange. To be affectionate with him in public, to actually _be_ with him, and feel happy and warm because of him.

You and Sebastian lose them somewhere around the fitting rooms, where he plops down onto the bench with a sigh. “Man, that girl can walk.”

You smile to yourself. Chloe may have a prosthetic leg, but she doesn’t let that slow her down.

“Come sit.” He’s seated in the middle of the bench with arms spread out along either side of the back. “I need a rest before we get to all the heavy lifting.”

You plant yourself to his left several inches away, but he decides that isn’t close enough and drops an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. You tilt your head to give him a sardonic look, which he kisses away. You pull back, cheeks heating up. “Sorry about Chloe.”

He shrugs, spreading his legs in a blatant show of cocky insolence. “I haven’t been to the gym this week so it’d be good to get a little strength training in between all the cardio.” Lechery floods his expression, and he even has the gall to wink at you.

You push him to the end of the bench, and he slides right over with a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

With a watered-down smile, he glides back over and returns his arm around you. “Then what did you mean?”

“Earlier, when she called you my…”

He chuckles, fingers swirling patterns on your upper forearm. “Boo?”

Though it was nice walking around with the thought that you’re together, you haven’t actually broached the subject of exclusivity yet. You cross your ankles, fingers tangled in your lap. “Are you seeing other people?”

“No.” He stills. “Are you?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

You shake your head.

“Good.”

You bite your lip. “Do you?”

“Nope.”

“… Good.”

He clicks his tongue. “Wanna look at books?”

You smile and push off the bench. “Race ya.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

The bedside lamp casts ominous shadows across the walls of your bedroom as Sebastian’s touch skims along the length of your arm. Goosebumps sprout up and down your body, and you push yourself firmer against his side and squeeze tangled fingers until your palms clap softly. The tips of your fingers nudging against the veins on the back of his palms.

“It’s late,” Sebastian murmurs, his voice deep and rumbly from where your ear is pressed against his collarbone. “I should go.”

You hum, snuggling further into him. Your fingers slide along his. They’re smooth and long, and sneaky as they pinch and tickle your fingers.

“We have work tomorrow.” He secures his other arm around your shoulder, pulling you firm as he kisses the top of your head.

You run your thumb over the writer’s callus on the first knuckle of his middle finger. There’s a small scar under his thumb, where the skin is wrinkled and glossy. With a frown, you rub it. “What happened here?”

“Ex stabbed me.”

You shoot to your elbows. “ _What_?”

“ _Accident_ ,” he says, pulling you down and fitting your head back under his chin. “We were being stupid. Fooling around in the kitchen and being careless.” He grabs your hand and tangles them together again. “We were both pretty traumatised. The ER doc had to give her something to calm her down.”

“Wow.” You bring your hands close to your mouth, and murmur against the scar, “I’m sorry.”

“What about you? Any exes stab you? Gimme their names.”

You chuckle, nuzzling the soft skin at the base of his neck. “No, nothing extreme like that.”

“When was your last relationship?”

“Serious relationship? About two years ago. Bryan was a sweetheart.”

“Why did it end?”

You lift a shoulder. “He was at that point in life where he couldn’t make our relationship a priority anymore, so we agreed to cool things off. I think we were better off as friends, anyway. Though he was a _really_ good kisser.”

“Hey now,” he says on a chuckle. “He better than me?”

You purse your lips, tilting your head up. “Hmm… I don’t quite remember. You’ll have to refresh my memory.”

He flips the both of you, and you jolt away from probing fingers. “Is that right?”

You shout, slapping his hands away as you squirm from under him. “Stop! Ah, no—Se _bastian_!”

He sits on your restless thighs and grabs your hands, holding them above your head. You freeze as hot, damp breath hits your lips, and you lick them. Eyes track the movement as nostrils flare.

There’s something about the way he hovers above you, half his face flushed in the lamp, the other half masked in the shadows that cling to your bedroom.

His nose brushes your cheek.

A metaphor, a beautiful poem about—

He blows a loud, wet raspberry.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

On Wednesday, you walk out of Wen Publishing with your head bent over your phone. You were about to head over to Paige’s favourite bubble tea shop when you got a text from her on the elevator ride down. She’s cancelled again—this time she’s staying late to work on some last-minute trip details, though you’re getting the sinking feeling that it’s more than just her upcoming trip that’s keeping her away.

You’ve just sent her a text telling her to call you as soon as she’s free, when someone grabs you from behind. You scream and yank your arm from their grip.

“Whoa—it’s just me!”

Heart in your throat, you whirl around and punch Sebastian. “Jesus, don’t _do_ that!”

He laughs, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry. I called your name, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Hey, is he bothering you?” A security guard approaches in a jog, suspicious gaze trained on Sebastian.

You smile and wave him off. “Yes, but I know him. It’s fine. Thanks, Lex.”

He nods, still eyeing Sebastian, whose shoulders are hiked up a little sheepishly. “Have a good evening, [Name]. Stay safe.”

You hook an arm around Sebastian’s and drag him down the bustling street. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a surprise.”

“Nice try.” You roll your eyes and push into him to avoid a group of teenagers barrelling down most of the footpath like they own the place. “I’m not falling for that again.”

“No”—he chuckles—“I’m serious. No penis joke, I promise.”

You let him lead you to the nearest subway station, where you pack in with the peak hour crowd like sardines and drown in the stench of body odour, garbage and piss.

You’re pressed up against Sebastian and trying not to laugh as he pulls faces, silently mocking the elderly man somewhere in the car complaining loudly about the smell and amount of people.

He takes you to The River Cafe where there’s a stunning view of Manhattan and a sloping perspective of the Brooklyn Bridge. The warm glow at each table light casts an intimate blanket over the gentle sounds of patrons dining. Sebastian leads you to a table by the windows, and as your eyes fall on two familiar faces, the blonde woman pops out of her seat with a squeal and attacks you with a rocking hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” Laura squeaks, and Sebastian’s hand falls away from the small of your back as she turns the both of you in a little dance.

You laugh, hugging her just as eagerly. “Let me look at you.” She looks gorgeous as usual, but there’s an air of maturity and confidence that certainly wasn’t there when you met her on your first day of college. “Beautiful. Must be all those orgasms.”

Her jaw drops, and she casts an accusing look at Sebastian, who laughs. “And you’re as cheeky as ever.” She pinches your cheek.

“All right, all right—quit hogging her, Ramsey.” Chace pushes her aside and holds out his arms. “You look so old.”

You walk into his arms, and he holds you in a tight hug that makes you breathless in more ways than one. You bunch his sports jacket in your hands and grin into his shoulder. He mirrors your grin when you pull away, and you playfully ruffle his short locks. Gone is boyish charm and the floppy hair that would fall into his bright blue eyes. “Look at you, all rugged and virile. Baby boy’s all grown up.”

Pink flushes under his scruff. “Fuck off.”

You laugh.

With a hand to your elbow, Chace helps you to the best seat at the table. He returns to his own between you and Laura, while Sebastian takes the one to your left.

You can’t keep the smile from your face as you look at your friends framed by the breathtaking Manhattan skyline and Brooklyn Bridge.

Throughout dinner, you talk about your job, Chace raves about the growth of the topical comedy YouTube channel he’s working on with his and Sebastian’s old college roommate Toby Hemingway, and you bring the conversation back to Laura’s article.

“I learned it’s less about the orgasms and more about making the time for yourself.”

Sebastian drops an arm around your chair and leans into your ear to mutter a dirty joke about mutual masturbation, and you snort out a laugh as he kisses your hairline.

Across the table, Chace and Laura’s beam are just as bright as the lamp on your table. “Well, well,” Chace drawls with a hint of his Texan accent. “Sebastian told us about the two of you, but I didn’t believe it until now.”

“I always believed,” she says. “I thought for sure they were going to hook up sophomore year, on [Name]’s birthday”—she hits Chace’s arm with the back of her hand—“remember?”

“Re _member_? It’s all I think about.” Chace’s gaze twinkles as he grips your arm. “Sebastian got y—” He breaks off with a chortle, head dropping as the mirth shakes his shoulders. After all these years and he still can’t talk about your nineteenth birthday without cracking up.

Sebastian chuckles. “That was a good night.”

You rub your forehead. “I only remember pieces. Was there a British guy helping me steal a bottle of tequila?”

Sebastian snorts. “You didn’t steal anything. He was the bartender, and he charged us an extra eighty bucks for it. You remember Tom.”

Wait, it was at Renner’s where you had your birthday sophomore year? Wow, you were _so_ wasted. “Hold on, why’d you guys let me think all this time that I stole it?”

“You wanted a fun story of your first drunk experience,” Laura says.

Sebastian laughs. “Plus you looked so cute and proud that you managed to pull off your little heist.”

Chace coos mockingly.

And you’re going to burst into flames if he keeps making fun of Sebastian for looking at you like he’s _adoring_ you.

Laura sighs, spinning her wine glass by the stem. “I missed you guys.”

“Wish Jess could’ve made it,” Sebastian adds.

You texted her earlier, but she’s busy. She sent her best and made you promise to catch her up at your weekly Pilates class tomorrow.

“How is she these days?” Chace asks you.

“She’s working on something involving the presidential election.” Investigative journalism can be intense, and with the election coming up, she’s up to her eyeballs in work.

The conversation turns political as you discuss the running candidates. Dinner ends soon after with Laura making a joke that she’ll run for president in twenty years, and you all linger in the parking lot by her car even after the goodbye hugs.

She nudges you, her keys jangling. “How’re you getting home?”

In the poorly-lit lot, you look to Sebastian, since he planned this and neither of you drove here.

“Chace is dropping us off on his way.”

“Okay.” Laura pulls everyone into another hug, leaving you for last. “I’m really happy for you,” she whispers, squeezing your shoulders.

You pull away and cup her cheeks, smiling when she scrunches her face. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Ditto.”

You wave goodbye to her retreating tail lights, and the three of you start heading toward Chace’s pickup. You accidentally kick some loose gravel, and it clicks as it skips across the rough ground. “I still live in—”

“I know,” Chace says as a car rolls through the car park and blinds you with their headlights.

Sebastian grabs your hand, hauling you close, and you push your heated face against the cool leather of his jacket.

It’s kind of a given at this point that Sebastian’s coming home with you. After work, you’d meet up for dinner or get take away on the way to your apartment. Most nights he crashes there and wakes up early to go back to his place for a change of clothes.

It’s funny; during college a lot of your time was spent at the apartment he shared with Chace and Toby, but since reconnecting, you’ve never been to Sebastian’s new place.

You glance at him through your lashes. “On second thought, let’s go back to your place.”

A teasing grin splits his face. “Oh yeah?”

Seated between the boys in the truck, your breathing is unsteady as your gaze flicks between them. Sebastian’s carrying on a conversation with Chace about god knows what like he doesn’t have his hand on your upper thigh, fingers curled inside and pinkie rubbing dangerously close to your impatient sex. You’re torn between arousal and fear—fear that Chace will look down and see just exactly what’s going on between the two of you. He would never let you hear the end of it.

And you would die.

Of sexual frustration or from mortification. Whichever comes first because it’s certainly not you.

As soon as Chace pulls up in front of a line of greystone railroad apartments, Sebastian removes his hand, and you let out a breath. He opens the door and you shove him out.

“Well, drive safe, Chace, thanks for the ride, bye.” You rush out and slam the car door behind you.

Sebastian grabs your hand, and the both of you power walk up to his door, giggling along the way.

“Don’t forget protection!” Chace calls out as Sebastian struggles to unlock his door one-handed in the dark.

Without looking back, you flip him the bird, and the sound of his laughter is drowned out by his rumbling truck as he drives away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura’s article is from something I read from [Refinery29](https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/2016/07/117841/orgasm-better-skin) a few years ago.


	5. the one where she’s in love with—

Sebastian pushes you into and through his apartment, kissing and pulling clothes off the both of you. You almost trip backward over a shoe that’s bounced into your path, but you cling to his neck, and his grip on your waist steadies you.

With a chuckle, you pull away. “Wait, I wanna see your place.”

“It’s a shithole, now kiss me.”

You get a glimpse of the kitchen’s basic setup as he yanks off your shirt. Your vision tunnels on the man vying for your attention with his hot touch and sinful mouth. The next time the back of your feet hit something, it’s his bed, and you’re both naked.

His hands are everywhere, sliding over and groping heated skin, as if trying to memorise your body like a student cramming a whole semester’s worth of information for an exam in an hour.

Sebastian tries to push you onto the queen-sized bed that takes up most of the cramped room, but you resist and guide him to sit on the edge. Kneeling in front of him, you scatter kisses down his neck, licking his pulse along the way to his chest where there’s a smatter of hair along his sternum. You pause to suck a dark nipple into your mouth, and his rumbling groan runs through you like electric pulses.

A hand finds its way behind your head, fingers gently massaging your scalp. “Lower,” he husks.

Your tongue skims the tops of a faint impression of abs. “Here?”

His stomach clenches. “Lower.” There’s a grit in his voice, and his fingers tighten in your hair.

Your hands skim the sides of his ribcage and you place a kiss just under his navel. “Here?”

He groans, and you answer with an unseen teasing smile. “Lower, baby.”

“Oh,” you say softly, fingers lightly scratching the tops of his thighs and curving in. His legs quiver as his erection jerks up to brush your neck. “You mean here?” You grip him and drop your mouth down his length.

His answering moan fills your ears.

Your mouth and hand work in tandem, and your face heats from the praises you pull from him.

When he gets close, his thighs tighten and your name comes out cracked and strained. You tease him from the edge with a firm grip around his head, only to push him back to the precipice with quick strokes and humming sucks. You do keep him teetering until he’s shaking and desperate.

Sebastian grabs you with a growl, throwing you onto your back. Your laugh gets caught in your chest as he pins you down and drags himself along you. Your moans meld together in the space between your mouths, hot breaths fanning each other.

“You’re a naughty little tease.” He grinds against you, slick chest brushing against yours and fingers tightening around your wrists held by your head. His mouth comes down on you in a hard kiss. “Hands and knees.”

You obey, body thrumming with excitement and anticipation.

He leans over to the side table. “It’s gonna be hard and fast, so you better hope you cum before I do.” Kneeling behind you, his fingers ensure you’re prepped before he eases into you. He steadies himself with the flesh of your hips, movements slow and stiff from his restraint.

You drop to your elbows, planting the side of your face against the mattress, and arch your back with a groan. “Fuck me.”

He moans and drives himself to the hilt. You get a glimpse of his imposing, shadowy figure looming behind you before he bends to lick a sloppy trail up your sweaty back. He yanks your knees out from under you, and your lower body flops onto the bed with a bounce, his length dragging along a spot inside you that leaves you keening.

“Oh my god,” you garble out. “Sebastian!”

He drills you into the bed. Hard, fast, hot. Using the spring of the mattress to aid his thrusts, he guides your restless hips, and your bodies move like waves crashing into rocks during a storm brewed up for days.

Your heated skin absorbs his sounds of fervent pleasure, and your own are clogged in your throat, fucked out of you by his loud, squelchy thrusts.

He cums with his face pressed against your shoulder blade, body shuddering in violent waves as he pulses deep inside of you.

Your throbs like a passenger on a rickety train that’s gone idle.

A damp puff of air hits your jaw a moment before lips press to your cheek. He pulls out of you to flop onto the bed beside you.

You wiggle onto your back, skin damp and melding to the cotton. Your groin pulsates in protest, and you slide a hand between your legs.

Sebastian grunts and rolls to press his sticky body along your side. His hand meets yours, fingers tangling together. The both of you bring yourself off. Your pants and the slick sound of your fingers fill the dark silence of his bedroom as he murmurs dirty words into your ear.

You cum with an embarrassing squeak, convulsing against his encouraging touch and words. Your orgasm takes your soul two inches off the mattress, a million pinpricks scattering throughout your body. As you come back into your own, your limbs slacken, and your head lulls to the side.

You push his hand away because you’re so sensitive it’s almost painful. You swallow with a wince, throat so dry that it feels like a needle pricked the back of it.

“That was hot.”

You laugh breathlessly, rubbing a hand over your face. You pull deep breaths—lavender and laundry detergent.

Sebastian presses a kiss to your ear.

“I have a question,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you insist on calling me ‘pissy’?” He grunted it when you had your mouth on him, lightly dragging your teeth across the tip of his head as you edged him for the third time.

He props his head on a hand while the other skims your cooling skin. “I don’t call you ‘pissy.’”

“Are you senile? You say it all the time.”

He blinks, finger stuck in your belly button. “You mean _pisi_?”

“That’s what I said!”

He laughs. “ _Pisi_ means ‘cat’ in Romanian, dummy.”

“Then why do you call me _pea_ -see?” You squint as you mimic his pronunciation.

He grins. “You sound sexy when you speak Romanian. Now say, _Îmi place penisul tău mare_.”

You fumble over the first few syllables and scrunch your face in confusion. His shoulders shake with his laughter, and you punch him. “What does it mean?”

“Nothing I don’t already know.” He wiggles his eyebrows and leans forward to kiss you, but you block it with a hand to his face. He bites the fleshy part of your palm, and you giggle as the ticklish feeling rakes up your arm.

“Why _pisi_?”

“You remind me of a cat.” He shrugs. “You’re cute, but you have claws.” He lightly digs his fingers into the meat of your chest, and you shiver as he drags a blunt nail across a puckered nipple. “I love cats, but I’m allergic to them.” He nudges your nose with his. “Except you.”

“That’s too bad because I’m allergic to you.”

“Oh yeah? Do you experience a shortness of breath when I’m near? Does your heart race?” He pecks the edge of your jaw. “What about when I touch you?” His hand moves between your thighs, and you suck in a breath. “Do you get the shakes?” He rubs you with the lightest of touches. “Do you get the chills?” he whispers.

Yes. All of the above, yes.

“Talk to me, baby.”

You grip his wrist and thrust your hips up. “More.”

Sebastian pulls away—and damn it, that’s not what you want—and produces another condom from his bedside table. He straddles you and braces his forearms by your head, essentially trapping you under him and invading your senses. He notches the head of his length to your opening, where you’re still wet and achy.

You meet his heated gaze as he fills you up.

As he moves above you, you rest your hands under your head in the epitome of lazy carelessness. “Faster.”

He chuckles. “You’re a brat.” He wraps your legs around him and hauls the both of you around so you’re straddling his lap and his back is against the window sill at the head of the bed. He slaps your ass and you gasp out a laugh. “Do some work, lazybones.”

You brace yourself on his shoulders and your hips bob.

A faint shaft of light crawls through the window from his neighbour’s backyard. Your skin glows, the light playing off the film of sweat over your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, hands catching your waist. They skim your sides, thumbs graze your nipples, raising goosebumps with his reverent-like touch. “I want you.” His voice is rusty and ragged, as if wrecked from pleasure. Or something else.

“I want you too.”

Something in his eyes turn soft, and he kisses you gently, stealing your breath. His strong arms curl around you, halting your swirling hips and pulling you flush against him. Your own arms worm around his neck, and you share slow, deep kisses.

He shifts your positions again, lowering you onto your back as he hovers above you. He moves like he has all the time in the world. There are no naughty words this time, only your name spills from his lips—smooth like his drives, choppy like your breaths, full like your chest.

You stare into his night-darkened eyes that flick between your own eyes and your mouth, how they flutter as he holds himself deep inside you, the crease in his eyebrows that portray his concentration.

Something about the way he’s looking at you, the languid rolls of his hips. You tremble. It’s so much more intense than the first, frantic fuck.

Your hands travel the expanse of his hard body. They play with the hair on his head, hang off the strength of his biceps, streak the sides of his ribcage (where his rhythm breaks and his snigger tickles your lips). Smiling, your hands cruise down his broad back, rocking against shifting muscles, and anchor against the ripples in his ass cheeks where you brave the orgasm threatening to crash into you.

By now, both of you are vocalising your pleasure, and you must sound so ridiculous—but _god_. Every noise that comes out of his mouth is beautiful. Sensual.

You’re close. So close.

“Sebastian—”

He gets there first, cupping the top of your head as he drives into you harder, faster, and reaches down to help you along, and then you’re with him, clutching him, moaning, shuddering so hard as you dissolve into a billion pricks.

Your eyes flutter, thighs twitching so hard they’re shivering.

Sebastian strokes a thumb along the apple of your cheek. You open your eyes to see his caught in a concentrated furrow. You reach up to smooth it out and, like parting clouds after a stormy afternoon, a smile appears.

He shifts, still inside you, and you welcome his snug weight as he melts onto you.

You sigh and drape your arms around his cool shoulders. Eyelids grow heavy. His softening erection slips out of you, and you quiver gently.

He pecks your lips and murmurs your name.

“Hm?”

“I…”

His hesitation wraps around your throat, and you open your eyes. The neighbour’s lights have flickered off, blanketing the room in shades of midnight blue that wrests against the liquid moonlight. But you see it. The unspoken words, looking back at you with bright eyes.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

“So then Randall butt-fucked my sex doll so hard it popped.”

You blink hard. “Huh?”

Jessica laughs.

It’s Thursday evening, and you’re having dinner after a gruelling Pilates class. Though your body can feel the after effects, your mind is having trouble conjuring up details of the last two hours because you were zoned out, thinking about last night—Sebastian’s touch, his kisses, the way he looked at you, held you.

 _God_. You can’t have these feelings. It’s just not possible to be _this_ happy.

Jessica snaps her fingers in front of your face with an amused quirk to her lips. “Hello? Earth to [Name]. What’s going on with you? You’ve been all smiles in your own little world all night.”

You clear your throat and play with the napkin by your empty plate. “I’m sort of… kind of seeing Sebastian?”

“Hold up.” She leans forward, arm rattling her dishes against each other. “ _Our_ Sebastian? Your archenemy?”

You laugh. “My archenemy?”

“You literally used those words once.”

You do not recall saying that, but: “Yes. I’m dating him.”

She swears. “Tell me _everything_.”

So you do. From when she ditched you at the pub to telling Paige, the lunches and the texts between, that first night that seemed to last for days, the day at Target where you loitered in the books section discussing favourite reads until Chloe found you, and finally to last night.

“Wow.” She sits back. “Shit, I owe Chace twenty bucks.”

“What?”

“He always said there was something between the two of you.”

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes. “It’s called ‘contempt.’”

“Call it whatever you want, but it was intense. Laura used to say it was your version of foreplay, the way you two would constantly be at each other’s throat.”

Damn them all.

“I just never thought you’d actually get together… you know, because of Paige.”

You fiddle with your fork, pushing around the remnants of your dinner. “She says she’s okay with it, but I don’t know. It was weird for me at first because I always thought she had feelings for him—”

Jessica laughs. “Right. She has feelings for _Sebastian_.”

“What do you mean?”

The disbelieving amusement on her face fades. “Oh… never mind.”

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me.”

She shifts, biting her lip. “I don’t think—”

You repeat yourself in a near-growl, and she winces.

“Paige doesn’t have feelings for Sebastian. She’s in love with _you_.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You storm into Paige’s studio apartment. “P?” Never breaking stride, your gaze sweeps the dim, neat space and step through the little galley kitchen. You cross the apartment and poke your head past the partition. Her bed is a mess of sheets and pillows, an open suitcase on the verge of falling off the edge of the bed.

But no Paige.

“Hey.”

You whirl around.

Paige is stepping out of the bathroom, holding toiletries and face open in surprise. “What are you doing here?” She’s dressed in sweats, face clean of makeup to reveal some angry pimples on her forehead.

Your heart thumps, hot and heavy in your chest.

Ten years. You’ve been friends for _ten years_. You’d know. You’d know if she’s in love with you. Because best friends know everything about each other. But most importantly, they tell each other _everything_.

This? No. It’s not possible.

You would’ve known.

You _know_ _her_.

She smiles as she approaches, thumbing your chin as she passes to set her things in the suitcase.

Or maybe you know what you want to know.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Be honest with me.”

“Okay…”

“Have you ever had feelings for Sebastian?”

Her shoulders stiffen, but when she turns around, there’s a smile on her face. “I told you I don’t. I—”

“What about me?”

And maybe there are better ways to confront her with this, but—

“What? No.” She laughs, and it’s high and pitchy and your ears protest because it’s a lie.

Lie. Lielie _lie_.

You ball your fists. “You’re my _best_ friend, Paige.”

She crosses her arms. “We haven’t been _best friends_ in years.” It’s mocking and hurtful, and you take a step back as her face twists into an ugly expression. “Stop kidding yourself, [Name]. We’ve drifted apart since college.” She glares down at your feet. “And I’ve—you just keep coming back, and it kills me. It fucking kills me because every time I look at you, I _ache_ inside,” she says unevenly as she lifts anguished eyes. “You want to know if I have feelings for you? I do. I’m in love with you. All these years… I’ve felt so hollow an-and so _desperate_ for you to love me back and fill me up inside. But you don’t.” Her lashes meet her cheekbones. “You _can’t_. So there. Are you happy now?”

You let out a stuttering breath. “I’m so sorry, Paige.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I am. I never—”

Her face crumples. “Please.” She covers her face, heaving a soft sob into her palms. “Please, don’t.”

“You’re my friend,” you murmur, barely audible that you’re not sure she can hear. You put your arms around her in an attempt to comfort her like you did the night her parents told her they were getting a divorce, like you did the first time she had her heartbroken by a boy, the day she found out her idol died too young, your first night away from home, the night after Sebastian broke up with her.

She holds onto you urgently, tears soaking your neck. And you stand there as her quiet cries deafen you.

You’re helpless as you are heartbroken.

Ten years. And you never knew.

You think you imagine it the first time, but then when she kisses your neck again, with more pressure, you start to pull away.

She whimpers and hangs on tighter. “Please.” She cups your face, her thumbs stroking your cheeks as she stares at your mouth. “Please, just let me… Just once.”

You pull her hands away. “Paige, no.”

Her miserable eyes turn hard. “It’s him, isn’t it?” She pulls back, sharp and stiff. “I saw the way you’d look at him. You’d choose him over me.”

Your mind whirls. “No one’s choosing anyone over another.”

“But if you had to. If we were both holding onto the edge of a cliff, you’d save him.”

“Paige.” You shake your head as something thick bubbles up your throat. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’d save _you_. It was always you.” Her voice breaks on the last word. “Why can’t you love me? What do I have to do for you to love me back?”

You open your mouth. How can you answer that?

“I can’t do this anymore.” She covers her face again. “I can’t—It’s too hard.”

“Please—”

“Get out.”

Your arms throb as they hang limp by your sides. Butterflies swirl angrily in the pit of your stomach.

Ten years.

Her name comes out broken and jagged.

“I can’t.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You don’t remember getting home.

You don’t even notice until you’re standing right in front of him that Sebastian sitting in front of your door with his laptop open. And when he frowns up at you with affection and concern creasing the corners of his eyes… you just burst into tears.

He engulfs you in his protective embrace, gently rocking you as you cry into his shoulder. He murmurs words you don’t understand and brushes kisses you don’t feel.

In a lull where you catch your breath, you barely manage to register him asking for your keys.

He leads you straight to your bathroom, where he sets you on the edge of the bathtub and proceeds to draw you a bath. He lifts your chin and frowns at whatever he sees looking back at him. With a sigh, he starts to take your clothes off and helps you into the warm tub.

The only sound bouncing off the tiled walls are your sniffles and soft splashes as Sebastian caresses a small, damp cloth over your skin.

He’s rubbing it between your fingers and freezes when you speak up. “She’s in love with me.” The whisper seems louder than it’s supposed to be.

You condense what happened into a chunky package, your words broken up by breathless gasps as you recall the anger, the hurt sharpened to desperation, to heartbreak.

By the end, the water’s lukewarm, your fingers are beginning to prune, and you’re crying again. Sebastian hauls you out and onto his lap, water drizzling off you and soaking his clothes. He tucks your face into his neck and holds you close as you lurch against him from the force of your silent cries.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You wake up in bed to birds chirping and city traffic. Dry and naked, your eyes are puffy, your throat raw. You shift, and the heavy warmth of Sebastian curled up against your back disappears as he rolls onto his back in his sleep.

The piercing sound of your phone’s ringtone startles him awake, and you lunge for it.

But instead of Paige’s laughing face, Chloe’s cheeky grin fills the screen.

What were you thinking? Paige wouldn’t have called on the heels of essentially breaking up with you.

Sebastian sits up as the phone continues ringing and takes it out of your hand. “Hey,” he mumbles, “it’s Sebastian. Now’s not a good time.” Chloe’s muffled voice is indecipherable as it bleeds through the speaker. “I doubt it… Yeah, I will… I will. Bye.” He kisses your shoulder and curls an arm around your middle, urging you down.

As soon as your head hits the pillow, you roll onto your side and your hand glides down his warm chest. Before you can wrap your fingers around him, he stops you with a hushed, “Whoa, hey.”

“I need you.”

His sleep-glazed eyes scour your face, a brow crinkled. “Okay.” He rolls over you, trailing kisses down your neck, and kneads a thigh. “Let me help you forget.”

Yes. This. You close your eyes and hold him closer.

He tucks his mouth against your ear as his fingers glide down your body. Filthy words and soft moans fill your bubble as his fingers rub your sex until you’re swollen and aching for him. All you can do is cling to him, feel him, burst around him.

When he takes you, it’s slow and heavy. He’s rolled you onto your side with a leg curved over his hip as he ruts into you. With foreheads pressed together, morning breaths mingle into the small space between you. Your arm’s hooked over his shoulder from behind while his grip your ass to help you fuck him back.

But it’s not enough; you need it harder. So you push his shoulder and straddle him, all the while, he throbs with need from deep inside of you. Hands intertwined by his head, you ride him hard and drown the world outside with the sound of sex.

He looks up at you with desire and love.

Love.

Your hips falter. A tear escapes. He’s there—to kiss it away, to encourage you. “Fuck me, _pisi_.”

And you do, until you’re both groaning and spasming and nothing else matters but the two of you.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You spend most of the weekend sleeping. When you wake sometime after 3 PM by a text from Jessica, you start deleting photos and videos from your phone. Your thumb hesitates at the picture of you and Paige on your first Spring Break; her face scrunched as she presses a kiss to your cheek and you smiling into the camera.

On Tuesday night, Sebastian comes by and feeds you. You reach for him and he goes willingly, drawing orgasms on his knees and looking up at you with sad, lustful eyes.

You’re caught crying in the bathroom at work on Wednesday, and your supervisor sends you home for the day.

Chloe drags you out to a club late Friday night, but you sulk there for all of ten minutes before she takes you across the road for McDonald’s. She buys you a happy meal and you eat it on the curb. The blue Talking Tom toy that comes with it smirks at you behind shades, and when you flick him, he falls back onto the asphalt and shouts, “Wowza!”

(Later, you find yourself banging on Sebastian’s door. He lets you in with sleep-squinty eyes and hair sticking up every which way. You give him the Talking Tom and he gives you a back rub. You shake the toy every time he hits a really good spot, and as Tom shouts, “Wowza!” he kisses chuckles into your shoulder blade.)

Late Sunday morning, you snuggle into Sebastian’s warm sheets and recover the photos and videos from your trash before pulling up Paige’s number.

She’s leaving for Paris tomorrow. You should respect her wishes and stay away.

You call her number, and it rings once before her voicemail kicks in. Sighing, you type out a message wishing her a safe flight and remind her not to forget her important documents.

There’s a bit of a commotion from the front door, signalling Sebastian’s return from wherever it is he had to go to. He appears in the bedroom doorway in his NASA cap, hands behind his back. “Hey.”

You push your phone under the pillow with all the guilt of a child would a new toy they broke. “Hi.”

“I have a surprise for you.” There’s a nervous lilt in his voice, and for a brief, irrational moment, you think Paige is here and shoot up in bed. The blanket falls limply off your body and puddles into your lap about the same time he produces something from behind.

It’s a guitar.

“I was going to save it as a Christmas present, but I got a chance to pick it up today and thought maybe it might cheer you up a little. I’ve been saving up money for a good one since, um… when you told me you wanted to learn. It’s second-hand so there are some superficial scratches and dents, but it still plays like a champ. Or that’s what my friend told me.”

He’s babbling, and he seems to notice this because he bites his bottom lip. He places the instrument before you on the foot of the bed and climbs in beside you. He smooths a hand down the back of your head. “Do you like it?”

It’s beautiful. The wood is dark and earthy, and there’s a pretty, intricate vine design along the fretboard under the strings. The back of your nose pricks, but you blink back into focus and manage a soft, “I love it.”

He kisses your temple and pulls it closer, enough for you to reach out and glide a finger over a string. A rich note reverberates from the body and goosebumps ripple over your bare skin. “Chace has a buddy in a band, and he says he’ll teach you some basics.”

“I love you.”

You meet his surprised gaze with one of your own. You don’t know where it came from—you don’t even know when you started feeling this way about him, but it just bubbled out.

The corners of his eyes wrinkle. “You’re just saying that because I got you a guitar.”

You shove him, and he falls back with a laugh. “I take it back.”

“No take backs.” He yanks you down beside him.

“I can if you don’t say it back.”

“I should say it back then, shouldn’t I?”

You tilt your head and raise your brows.

He just grins.

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, you’re a special kind of asshole, aren’t you?”

“An asshole you _looove_.”

“Okay.” You start to leave, but he grabs you with sounds of protest.

His stare softens, and he nudges his nose against your cheek, hand trailing down your side. “I love you too.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and you accept his sweet kiss. The bill of his cap taps your forehead, and you take it off to run fingers through his matted hair.

He steals a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “I should move the guitar before we break it from all the grateful sex I’m gonna get.”

You snort and pull him closer, and his cotton shirt brushes against your nipples. “We’ve established you’re an asshole, right?”

He hums and kisses you again. He grabs the guitar, big hand curling around the neck.

Your phone buzzes under your head, and you pull it out.

Your heart stops.

 **Paige** **🙊** **:** Thanks

Sebastian climbs in beside you. “What is it?”

Your vision gets blurry as your brows furrow to stave off the burning in your nose.

“Baby,” he whispers, pulling you close.

Maybe, after some time—when she’s ready—you can re-build your friendship.

Sebastian kisses your wet cheeks.

Maybe everything will be okay, eventually.


	6. the one in the suburbs

You learn your first song with Chace’s friend Penn, and Sebastian is there for most of your jam sessions; the both of them listen to you struggle your way through learning the chord shapes and how to strum with the pick. Penn is patient, but—

“You’ve forever ruined this song for me,” Sebastian says as you butcher the chorus for the fourth time today.

You glare at him. “I’ve gone _blind_ listening to you try to hit those notes in ‘Dangerous Woman’.”

“No one can sing it like she does and do it justice.”

You stick your tongue out, and his smirk brings a dark glint in his eyes.

“Stick your tongue out again, and I’ll bite it.”

“Complain one more time and I’ll give you something to _really_ complain about.”

“Uh…” Penn scratches his chin. “How long have you two been dating, again?”

You smile at him. “Almost a month.”

“Only?” Sebastian asks. “Feels longer.”

“Ignore him,” you tell Penn. “That’s how I’ve lasted this long.”

Penn huffs out a laugh. “Right. Wanna go again?”

You place your fingers for the first chord, and Sebastian grumbles.

But he’s here. He’s within earshot of your lessons, and he smiles every time you look up after a passable chord progression. He is the reason why your fingers ache because you’ve been spending hours learning different songs and fine-tuning your new skill.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You approach the reception desk in the trim, modern building. There’s a large red and white Marvel Magazine logo on the wall so grand that you almost miss the receptionist underneath it, who smiles. Her big cheekbones round and crinkle the corners of her bug eyes. “Welcome to Marvel Magazine. Can I help you with something?”

“Um, hello. I’m here to see one of your writers. Sebastian Stan?”

“Do you have an appointment with him?”

“Oh, no. It’s for—It’s a personal visit.”

“Your name, please?” She makes a quick phone call before handing you a visitor’s pass with another smile. “He’s waiting for you on the tenth floor.”

“Thanks.”

The sleek elevator whirls softly as it glides up. You lean close to the reflective door and fuss with your appearance; smoothing down stray strands of your hair and picking a loose thread off your shirt.

The doors open to a boisterous laugh, the sound vaguely familiar. You step out of the elevator and into a brightly-lit, modern office. Sebastian and a man are leaning against a support beam, and your face lifts with a surprised smile. “Hey!”

Sebastian grins back as Anthony’s jaw drops comically. “Oh damn, look at chu!” He opens arms wide and you walk right into his enthusiastic embrace. “How the hell are ya?”

“Pretty good.” You haven’t seen Anthony since senior year, at a party Chris Evans threw. Past the usual awkward first meeting, you and Anthony hit it off that night. Though there were plenty of bantering in the Disney posse group chat after, conversation eventually fizzed out.

Sebastian slips in a kiss to your cheek. “This is a nice surprise.”

You curl an arm around his back. “Thought we’d have lunch.”

“Count me in, I’m starved,” Anthony says.

You laugh. “Sure, you can come too.”

Three blocks over, you’re enjoying your Pad Thai when Anthony asks, “Are you going to Evans’ thing?”

Your gaze flits to Sebastian. “Uh… not that I know of.”

“I was going to ask you tonight,” Sebastian says. “He’s having a cookout this weekend. You wanna come?”

“Sounds fun. It’d be good to catch up.”

He chuckles, sitting back against his seat and throwing an arm across the back of yours. “He might try to talk you into another Disneyland trip.”

You smile. “Maybe we’ll go this time. I’d love to see you wearing Mickey Mouse ears—no, _Finding Nemo_ merch all the way, Sea Bass.”

He groans, pinching his eyes shut and dropping his head back. “Don’t bring that back. I fucking hated that nickname.”

Anthony grins. “Well in that case, I’m gonna call you Sea Bass from now on. Nah, nah— _Sexy_ Sea Bass.”

You laugh.

Sebastian points at him and throws you a look. “You see what you did?”

You roll your eyes. “No need to get all _crabby_.”

Anthony puts a fist to his mouth as he exclaims a laugh.

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you reach for it, only to sigh through your nose. It’s only an email notification. Nevertheless, you pull up your conversation with Paige— _just in case_ she replied to your last message and your phone didn’t notify you.

**Mon, Sep 5,** 3:42 PM

**Paige** **🙊** **:** Here safe n sound

 **[Name]:** Have a good time! You deserve it

She was right that night in her apartment. You hadn’t really been as close friends as you thought. You’d been drifting apart for years, for a number of reasons that don’t matter. You still have so many questions—how long did she know? Why didn’t she tell you? Would things have turned out differently if she had? How did you not see it?—but they don’t matter either; they wouldn’t do you any good now.

A hand on your arm pulls you away. Two expectant expressions stare back at you.

There’s a crease in Sebastian’s eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Sorry.” You shake your head. “I was just… Sorry, you were saying?”

Anthony repeats his fish pun, and you smile a closed mouth smile. If he notices your change in mood, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He moves on to his wife and kids, but you’re only half listening to the adorable thing his ten-month old did.

Sebastian’s hold slides down your arm to squeeze your hand, and something in his gaze lets you know that he knows what’s bothering you.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

On Saturday afternoon, you pad out of Sebastian’s bedroom and into the living room. It’s so bare-bones in here, you’re surprised your footfalls don’t echo. There’s an entertainment unit pushed against one wall that Sebastian says was left here by the last tenants. It’s filled with random books and knick-knacks. In the space where a TV is supposed to be, there’s a printer.

Sebastian is on the opposite side of the room on the old and worn couch, feet propped on the coffee table, both furniture taken from his college apartment. There’s a deep concentration carved into his features as his fingers fly over the keyboard of his laptop.

You fuss with the belt of your denim shirt dress. You’ve already changed three times, with outfits that are too formal or too casual for a barbeque party where you’re meeting some of Sebastian’s work friends for the first time.

It’s hard to find an outfit that says you want to make a good impression, but you don’t want to _look_ like you are. Maybe a simple shirt and jeans were the way to go.

“Is this too much?”

He barely looks up. “You look great.”

You huff. “You know, most people _relax_ on the weekends.” You plop down beside him and the vinyl creaks and squelches under your sudden weight. “Work can wait ’til Monday.”

He lowers the screen. “It’s not work. It’s… nothing.”

“Your frown seemed pretty serious for nothing.”

“It’s stupid.” He rubs his face, as if to erase his betraying expression. “I’m writing a story.”

You grin. “Is it another _Friends_ fanfic?”

“I finished that last week.” He pokes your side. “No, I’m working on a novel.”

“What’s it about?”

“A guy wakes up one day wearing an electric collar and trapped in a white room with five other people. There’s this woman that gives them instructions from a screen each morning, and every time they disobey they get shocked. The only time they’re allowed to leave the room is to go on these missions.”

“That sounds familiar. Didn’t you propose that idea for our creative writing project our freshman year?”

His brows jump. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, I liked it.”

“You said it was shit.”

“No, I said the concept was too elaborate to be written in only ten thousand words. It’s a really cool idea, and it deserves to be fleshed out.”

His face brightens. “Well, it’s not finished yet, but when it’s done, I’d want your opinion.”

“Really?”

“Are you kidding? You’re always busting my balls. I know you’d have no problem tell me if it’s bad.”

“Is that how you see me?” You dig a finger into the open wound in the arm rest. “As some snarky ass?”

“Baby, no.” He chucks your chin affectionately. “I just meant you’re honest; you’re not afraid to speak your mind.” He returns to the laptop, frowning and muttering, “Plus I need someone objective ’cause apparently I’m too critical about my work.”

You skim fingers through his hair as he saves and exits the document. “I’m sure it’s going to be great.”

He pushes the laptop onto the cluttered coffee table and hauls you to straddle his lap. Skimming fingers over the side of your head, he kisses you. “You look beautiful. It doesn’t matter what you wear.”

“It matters to me. But thank you.”

Wily fingers slip under your dress to brush against a sensitive inner thigh. “Mm.”

You grip his shoulders. “Careful. You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

He lifts a brow. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a reminder.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “We should get going or we’ll be late.”

“Then let’s be late.” His fingers trail higher, and your thighs clench as your groin throbs. Hot breath fans against the side of your neck. Teeth drag against your pulse. “ _Really_ late.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Though Chris still lives in the same neighbourhood, he’s upgraded to a much nicer, split-level house. You climb the clean porch, breathing in the barbeque aroma (and the distinct _lack_ of garbage and human and animal waste). The white of the rail that runs along the front of the house is stark against the orange and tan masonry of the exterior walls.

Sebastian rings the doorbell.

“Wow.”

The grass in the front yard is neatly trimmed, with a garden bed running along the length of the fence. Birds chirp, the browning and thinning trees guarding each picturesque house rustle in the wind and… that’s it. There’s no intermittent honking, occasional police sirens, or thundering of voices.

“You said he was promoted?”

“Mr. Fancy Executive Editor.”

The door opens a crack before a furry head pokes out, and you’re attacked by a huge ball of excited whines.

“Dodger!” a laughing voice exclaims as the dog jumps at you, all around you. “I’m so sorry— _Dodger_.”

You laugh. “It’s so okay.” You take a knee and attempt to calm him with scratches. “Hi Dodger. You’re just the cutest puppy.”

Dodger knocks you off balance, and you land on your ass with an, “ _Ooft_.”

The guys laugh, and while Chris softly reprimands Dodger, Sebastian gives you a hand up.

“Thanks.”

Chris holds out his arms. “It’s so good to see you.” As he envelopes you in a hearty hug, you wrap your own arms around his tapered waist. “Come ’round back.” He closes the front door behind him.

The porch rounds the left side of the house and opens up to a gorgeous taupe Trex deck. A tall blond is manning the grill with the quintessential spatula in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He turns toward the laughter and exclamations from the dozen or so people at the large patio table at the end of the deck. There are kids playing in the grass area, their shrieks and giggles attracting Dodger’s attention, and he scampers off to join them.

“Oi, who wanted the veggie patty?” the man shouts in a thick Australian accent.

Chris proceeds you, shouting, “Look what I found out front.”

Gazes whirl your way, followed by a burst of greetings.

“Hey!” The Australian man ambles over. “You must be [Name]. Chris Hemsworth, how’s it goin’?”

“Are you collecting Chrises?” you ask Sebastian.

They laugh.

“Before the night ends,” Hemsworth says, voice deep and sinister, “there will only be one.”

“Chills,” Sebastian says.

Evans laughs. “Oh, geez. A fight to the _death_.”

A blonde with piercing eyes steps into the makeshift circle you’ve made. “What’s up?”

“Veggie patty yours?” Hemsworth asks.

“Yeah, thanks.”

As he fixes her a burger, Sebastian’s hand caresses the small of your back. “Liz, this is [Name]. Babe, Elizabeth.”

Your _hi_ comes out choked because holy shit, he just called you ‘babe’ in front of his friends. A surge of giddiness rakes through your body, like coming home after school to find a toy you’ve wanted for _ever_ sitting right there. Yours.

Two hours later, belly full with food enough to distract the anxious butterflies, you’re standing by the backdoor to the house and chatting with Scarlett and Mark about a farm he’s looking to buy.

“There’s just something about Catskills that reminds me of my childhood.” He passes his phone to Scarlett.

“Oh wow. That looks amazing.” She tilts the phone so you can see too, but a pinch on your ass pulls your attention and an automatic whack to the perpetrator.

Sebastian hides his wince with a laugh as he rubs his chest. “What’re we talking about?”

“Mark’s buying a farm up in Catskills,” you say and steal a sip from his cup, grimacing as the bitter taste of beer assault your tastebuds.

“Oh no shit, that’s cool. Your kids would love that.”

Mark’s eyes light up, and he babbles about the outdoor adventures he and his family go on. Scarlett mentions fishing with her brother, and they discuss the best places in New York to fish.

Sebastian squeezes the back of your neck. “You good?”

You nod, pressing the back of your shoulder against him. “Great.”

Mark asks you about where you grew up, and conversation shifts from that to work. Scarlett excuses herself to refill her drink, and one of Mark’s kids pulls him away to settle a dispute.

You swivel to Sebastian, who raises his eyebrows and asks, “What are you smiling about?”

“Am I?”

He chuckles, tracing the outline of your mouth. “Right there.”

You shrug and wrap your arms around his middle. “I guess I’m happy.”

His eyes soften, and he pinches your cheek. “You’re cute.”

Your skin tingles, and you hike your shoulders, resisting the urge to just bury yourself in his chest. Instead, you sweep for any eyes on you and lean in for a kiss.

“Oh, look who finally showed!” Scarlett calls.

You turn to the side of the house, where a man strolls forward. There’s an air of maturity about him—maybe it’s the scruff he’s sporting—but as Scarlett throws herself against him and a boyish smile transform his face into the man you once knew so intimately, you’re transported to two years ago.

The last time you saw Bryan was the night you quietly broke up and promised to stay friends.

His brown eyes find yours.

“Who’s that?” Sebastian asks.

You drag your gaze to him. “Hmm?”

He squeezes your arm, and you release your death grip on him. “Do you know him?”

“That’s Bryan.”

“Oh. Hold my beer?” He shoves his cup into your hand and struts over.

You inhale sharply and jog after him. “Se _bastian_ ,” you hiss. _What is he doing?_

Scarlett’s mid-laugh when Sebastian approaches them, grabs Bryan’s face and kisses him square on the mouth.

You freeze in the middle of the deck, jaw unhinged.

The backyard bursts into catcalls.

Sebastian pulls away and Bryan stumbles back with a bewildered expression bright on his face, to reveal Scarlett’s wide eyes and wider smile. Sebastian turns to you. “I don’t know if he’s the _best_ kisser.”

Your heart punches your ribcage and heat claws up your neck as the roaring laughter rattles in your ears so loud your teeth buzzes.

Bryan blinks at you, a hint of a smile on his parted lips.

You cover your searing face and shake your head even as your chest stutters with a suppressed laugh.

A hand grab your wrist, and Sebastian smirks at you.

You smack his shoulder, and say through a breathy chuckle, “You’re suck a dick!”

 

**_~ &~_**

 

The sun is slipping over the horizon, washing the sky in a gorgeous spill of purple, pink and orange. The kids have migrated inside, where Chris has put on a Disney movie and pulled out a few board games to keep them entertained. Out at the patio table, the adults have their own game of Bullshit, but a few of you have moved to the grass, huddled around the stone fire pit for warmth and peace away from the jeers and occasional outcry.

Sebastian’s abandoned his space behind you on the chaise chair to go to the bathroom, so you shuffle down the length to get closer to the fire.

Sunrise Ruffalo and Chadwick are having a quiet discussion on the other side of the pit, and Paul Bettany looks to be nodding off to your right.

You’re about to pull out your phone and pretend to be busy, when the sound of crunching grass pricks your ears and a pair of legs appear in the corner of your eye.

Bryan towers over you, hands tucked into his jeans. Ominous shadows dance over his smiling face. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

He gestures to the empty chaise chair behind him, and you hold out an offering hand. He takes a seat as you turn toward him. “So I’m the best kiss you’ve ever had, huh?”

“I never said that!”

He laughs. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, your guy’s not so bad himself.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let him hear you say that. His head will explode.”

A sobering smile softens his face, and the dancing fire reflected in his eyes brings you warmth. “You look good. Happy.”

You drop your head. “Thanks.” You smile at him. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good.”

“That’s great. Oh, I’ve been learning the guitar!”

“No way, that’s awesome!” He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Remember when I tried to teach you?”

“Those barre chords were the _worst_.”

“I should’ve started with something simpler.”

Though to be fair, you were more concerned with how he’d wrap himself around you to reach the guitar strings, too distracted with his warm embrace and fresh, soft methanol smell.

“Maybe you’ll play for me sometime,” he says. “Impress me with some barre chords.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You laugh with a belly full of affection. “I’ve missed you.”

Something in his expression quiets, like the highlight reel of your relationship is playing in his mind; the late night talks, his encouragement to apply for a higher role within Wen Publishing and comforting you when you didn’t get it. Those ridiculously early Sunday morning walks down sleepy streets that he loved, where you pushed your yawns into his shoulder and he treated you to dim sum for breakfast. The reaction texts he’d spam your phone with after you introduced him to your favourite show. All the times you brought him food and coffee during the busy mortgage broking season.

He nudges your foot with his own. “I’m glad things aren’t awkward between us.”

Despite not having seen each other, you’ve spoken over the phone a couple times, ending only when one of you dozed off. “Why would they be? We’re friends.”

“Weird how things haven’t really changed, huh?” He leans his forearms on his thighs and slots his fingers together.

You run a hand along his rough jaw. “This is new.”

He retraces your touch with a shy chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Hey, man.” Sebastian throws a leg over your chair and plants himself beside you. “Sorry about earlier. This one’s been going on and _on_ about how amazing of—”

You slap a hand over his mouth.

Bryan waves off the apology, and you recoil at the slimy lick Sebastian slathers across your palm.

“Jesus, Sebastian.” You scrub your hand against his leg, and he traps it there.

“So how did you two meet?” Sebastian asks, smiling at Bryan like you aren’t here, trying to yank your hand from his grip.

“Uh, a few years ago,” Bryan says, glancing between Sebastian and your hands. “You were there.”

Sebastian frowns, tightening his hold against your tugging hand. “Where was this?”

“I lived with Evans for a few years.”

“Just before senior year,” you say. “They were having a party, you drove me there.”

Sebastian nods. “Oh shit. Yeah, sorry.”

Bryan chuckles. “Actually, I’m surprised you’re together.”

“Why’s that?”

Bryan glances at you. “[Name] had… strong feelings about you.”

You snort. “He’s saying I hated you.”

Sebastian laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“No, I mean, really. I did not like you _at all_.”

His jaw drops. “What? Seriously? I thought we were friends.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Aw, babe. I only hung out with you because our friends put up with your annoying ass.”

“You really hated me?” He frowns. “I thought we just had this charmingly snarky back and forth.”

“You _insulted_ me when we first met.”

“Well, so did you.”

“You did it first.”

“I wouldn’t have— _Ohh_.” He laughs. “Shit. I forgot about that.”

You shove him and he falls sideways onto the back rest.

“Yo, Stan.” Evans holds his arms up from the deck railing. “You in or what?”

They rope the three of you into the game, and you spend the next two hours with sore cheeks from laughing so much.

You put down your cards. “Two sixes.”

Beside you, Sebastian narrows his eyes. “Bullshit.”

Huffing, you flip the cards over to reveal the four and nine. “This is so not fair. He’s cheating!”

Everyone at the table laughs.

He clicks his tongue. “I can read you like a fuckin’ book, baby.”

Robert pushes the pile over to you, and you add it to your deck with a grumble. “I hate this game.”

Hemsworth is surprisingly good at it, and after winning his third round, you try to cajole him into teaming up with you. “C’mon _Hemmy_.” It’s an affectionate nickname they’ve been calling him all night, and it certainly helps distinguish between him and Evans.

“I don’t know,” he says above the laughter and shouts of protests. “You seem to have a liability with Stan.”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth says, elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t the smart thing be to team up with Seb?”

You hook a thumb at him. “This guy? No way. We’d argue over which cards to put down.”

Sebastian throws an arm around your neck and hauls you over along the bench. “Only because you’re too stubborn to see how wrong you’d be.”

“Well, sorry if I don’t listen to the stupid things you say.”

Evans gets impatient with your bickering and benches the both of you from this round, so you and Sebastian sit back and watch the game.

A cool breeze skirts across the deck, breaking the bubble of warm air from the outdoor heater. You cuddle closer to Sebastian, and he pinches the back of your hand where it’s hanging between his legs. You flick his hand and cast him a warning glance from the corner of your eye.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Anthony says, pointing at the pair of you. “None o’ that, hands where we can see ’em!”

Sebastian throws his hands up with a laugh.

“Ah, really, guys?” Evans exclaims, jerking chin in direction of the house. “There are innocent children!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to check out the bonus chapter that goes along with this—it’s the last one.
> 
> Up next week is the epilogue!


	7. the one where it’s three months later

You wake with your face pressed into Sebastian’s neck, an arm draped around his waist and your thigh shoved between his. He’s rumbling something while his fingers swirl nonsensical patterns along your forearm.

Last night you dozed off on separate sides of the bed to the sound of a stream of keyboard clicks. Some time during the early morning, as your mind dreamed of touching the clouds, your body gravitated toward the warm anchor beside you and held on tight.

“I don’t know, ma. I’ll ask.”

You hum, stretching sleep-numb muscles and squint up at him.

His eyes are closed, but he’s on his phone, the voice on the other line a muffled sound. He chuckles, with a yawn catching onto the tailend. It inflates his chest and stretches his mouth wide, and brings about your own yawn, which you hide into his shoulder.

Since it seems like he’s not hanging up any time soon, you roll out of bed, toes curling against the cold hardwood floor as the winter air slams the heat off your body. Despite the radiator being on, your bedroom seems to be the only room that doesn’t get enough heat.

Not brave enough to step barefoot into the bathroom, you slip on some fuzzy socks and shuffle off.

You’re sipping your morning beverage on the couch with the morning news on TV, scrolling through your phone when Sebastian pads out. His bare feet drag across the hardwood floor and corded arm flexes as he scratches the back of his head, hair standing every which way.

He collapses along the couch and drops his head in your lap. “Mom wants to know if you’re free for Christmas lunch.”

You are; you and his mom have been secretly planning this lunch for a week. You’ve been wracking your brain for a gift since he gave you the guitar. Two weeks ago, you stole her number from his phone and called her about hypoallergenic cats.

(The heartbreakingly sweet bengal is perfect for him. At first glance, Rosie looks wild and dangerous, but like some rescues, she was cautious and shy. The volunteers at the shelter told you how incredibly gentle and playful she is, and with every visit to Sebastian’s mom’s where Rosie’s temporarily living has proven that.)

You card your fingers through his hair. “Lunch sounds fun.”

He kisses the inside of your forearm, stubbly lips scratching against your sensitive skin.

“I saw this cute scarf on Fifth Avenue. I think your mom would love it.” She commented on it last Wednesday as you walked by the store’s window display.

“Can we go tomorrow?” He pinches the top of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ve got a hangover.”

You pout and pat his cheek. Sebastian’s writing an article on a wine bar in Brooklyn. “I told you to eat a little before we went.”

He yawns and nuzzles into your stomach. “They had cheese plates and desserts.”

“And how did that work out for ya?”

He grunts.

You pick up your phone again and like a beach photo of Chloe and Austin where they’ve run off to for their Christmas vacation.

The fridge buzzes.

“Would you want to get married?” he murmurs, breath warming your belly button through your shirt.

Your fingers pause in his hair, and as you roll the question in your mind like a morsel of food in your mouth, your fingers resume their massage at a slower pace. “Yes… Somewhere down the line.”

Eyes still closed, the corner of his mouth quirks. “Don’t worry, I won’t be proposing any time soon.”

“Oh, you meant married to _you_?”

Sebastian lifts your shirt and blows a raspberry.

You laugh, pushing at his shoulder.

He sits up and grabs you, dragging the both of you down to lie across the couch. He fits you between him and the backrest and slaps your hip. “What about kids?”

You squint. “What’s with all these questions”—you gasp—“Are you pregnant?”

His lips purse and he pinches your cheek. “Yes. Congrats, it’s a mutant born from annoyance.” He chuckles. “ _Pisi_ , I’m trying to be serious, here.”

You rub your knuckles along his rough jawline. “You’re weirding me out.”

He scoffs. “What, we can’t discuss our future plans?”

Your heart swells, and you nudge your nose against his. “You’re my future plan.”

He smiles, sliding his hands up your back. “You’re so fucking cheesy.”

“And you’re a—” The rest of your words get sucked into his mouth as he kisses you. Humming, you wrap your arms around his neck and push closer to him.

He makes a muffled sound, holding you tighter, and you tumble off the couch. You both grunt as you land on top of him.

“Shit,” you say on a breathless laugh, scooting off him. “Are you okay?”

He wheezes. “Not really.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Four days later, you’re strolling through Manhattan with your hand buried in one coat pocket and the other tangled with Sebastian’s in his jacket pocket.

People huddle into the warmth of their winter wear as they hustle along to wherever they’re going tonight.

The streets are cast in a yellow glow despite the sea of white headlights and red tail lights on the road. The trees lining the footpath are stripped naked and they shiver as an unforgiving flurry of wind sweeps through the city.

Sebastian squeezes your hand. “Is that Paige?”

You stop dead and whip your head around. What? She’s back? “Where?”

He points to a liquor store across the street, in which a woman is studying a bottle of wine. Even from this distance, you know it’s her. If only because she’s wearing the hideously neon orange scarf that her grandmother gave her as a high school graduation present.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you toward the road.

“What? Sebastian—no! She… I shouldn’t.” You dig your boots into the raised edge of the footpath. “Please. She wouldn’t want me—”

“To what?” He shakes his head. “Say hi? You don’t know until you’ve tried.”

“I don’t want to bother her.” You tug your hand out of his pocket, but he doesn’t let go, and the greedy, frigid air leeches onto the sweat on your hand, sending a shiver up your arm.

He tilts his head. “You’re scared.”

Yes. “I’m not. I just… We’ll be late to the party.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your Christmas party can survive without you for a few more minutes.” He leads you across the road, slipping between a taxi and sedan, and you stop in front of the store. “Go,” he whispers, squeezing your hand before letting go.

You silently plead with him, but he simply kisses your cold cheek and pushes you forward. With a sigh, you peek through the glass door, on which a sign reads ‘We Deliver’.

(Would they be able to deliver a message to the woman in the orange scarf?)

She’s moved down the aisle, finger trailing across a shelf of wine bottles. A winter knit dress hugs her body, the white threads glitter as she moves under the ugly fluorescent light.

Clenching your jaw, you pull back your shoulders and step inside. A motion sensor announces your arrival, the sound somehow both musical and bored. You shuffle past the aisles that separate you and her, throwing a glance out the window to Sebastian, who’s watching you with raised, expectant eyebrows. You scrunch your face. He rolls his eyes, jerking his chin.

Paige has moved to the back of the store, where a fridge runs along the wall.

The clacking of your boots slow and you come to a stop behind her.

“Hey,” you mumble, and you hold your breath for her turn, the jump in her eyebrows, the surprised smile that lights her whole face—Okay, well, that last one is doubtful.

But Paige does none of these; she side-steps to the next section of the fridge, ignoring you like she didn’t hear… Oh.

“Paige,” you say louder.

She jerks and spins. Your name comes out much more even and unruffled than your splutter. She shifts the full basket from one hand to the other.

“Wow, thirsty?” It’s a lame joke, and you shut your eyes with a cringe. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s fine.”

There’s a glow about her skin that has nothing to do with any warm affection that used to light her expression. Instead, there’s a cool detachment as she gazes back at you. You force a pleasant smile on your face. “Your hair’s longer, I guess you let it grow out. But it’s a different… it looks—You look good.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze skims your frame. “So do you.”

Shoving your hands in your pockets, you hike your shoulders up. “How was Paris?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle as she rolls her lips together, as if to keep the joy from bursting through. “Life-changing.”

There’s something different about her, more than her new hairstyle. Maybe it’s in the way she’s carrying herself. She looks almost regal, with the way she’s holding her head high, shoulders back. She has a few inches on you, and she used to hunch to your level, leaning forward as if to reveal a secret. Now she simply stares at you with her eyelids hooded, as if bored; unbothered to meet you halfway.

She lifts a chin and steps to the side. “Watch out.”

You follow her gaze over your shoulder and fumble out of the way, narrowly missing the crates of beer barrelling past you. The man pushing the hand truck throws you an annoyed look.

“What about you?” she asks.

Your face heats up and you tug on your coat. “Huh?”

“How are you?”

“Oh, great!” Is it rude to exclaim with enthusiasm how good things are for you after everything that’s happened? “I mean, fine. I’m fine.”

(And what does it mean about your friendship that you go days, even weeks without thinking about her anymore?)

The rude man carting the beer starts noisily restocking two shelves over. The cash register dings and doorbell chimes. Paige transfers the basket back to the other hand.

A part of you wishes she would put it down, but it’s clear she’s not planning on extending this painfully awkward run-in. Not that you blame her. Yet your mouth opens and words stumble out. “I messaged you a few times.”

She nods. “I saw. I’ve been really busy.”

“Right.” You roll your lips together.

“Things were such a whirlwind in Paris. She promoted me when we got back.”

You lift onto your toes. “That’s so great! Maybe… we can celebrate.” You smile hopefully. “Get a coffee—or something. When are you free?”

“Sorry, don’t think I can.”

You swallow the sting and nod. “Um, that’s okay. I understand.”

“It’s not what you think.” She chuckles, waving a hand. “The promotion’s in LA, and I’m flying out tomorrow.” She glances at her watch. “Speaking of, I have to go.”

“Oh. Okay, well… It was good to see you. Really good, and um, have a safe flight and good luck.” You take a step forward, about to pull her into a hug, but you catch yourself the same time she takes a step back.

“Thanks.” She takes another step but pauses with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I hope he’s good to you.”

There’s no sarcasm or despair warping her words; it’s a quiet sincerity that steals your breath as you say on an exhale, “He is.”

She smiles, the first one in what feels like years. “I’m glad.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Lunch with Sebastian’s mother goes off without a hitch, during which she talks about decluttering her home and asks Sebastian stop by and see if he wants anything before she gives it all to Goodwill.

“I wonder if she still has my _Working Class Dog_ vinyl,” he says an hour later, seated beside you on her couch. “Hey, can you learn ‘Jessie’s Girl’ on guitar?”

You laugh. “Only if you sing it.”

She walks out of her bedroom with a simple brown box the size of a laundry basket.

Sebastian shoots forward. “Whoa, Ma. Let me carry it.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” She sets it on the coffee table and casts you a surreptitious wink. “It’s all in here. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

He perches on the edge of the couch, rubbing his hands. “I feel like I’m opening up a treasure chest,” he says, pulling back the flaps, and jerks. “Oh, shit!”

You put a hand to his back as Rosie pokes her head out, wide and curious green eyes trained on Sebastian.

She meows, as if in greeting. Your chest swells. She’s grown so much more confident in such a short time.

“Surprise!” you murmur, reaching out to let her sniff your finger before you rub her chin.

She purrs, tail swishing softly.

He stares at her, lips parted.

“Babe, meet Rosie. She’s about five years old and”—Rosie leaps into your lap smoothly and sits tall and proud—“Oh, hello.” As she brushes her head against your neck, you stroke the length of her orange and black tabby back. “She’s hypoallergenic.”

Sebastian sits back against the couch until you’re shoulder to shoulder. “Can I?”

“She’s a little shy at first.” You teach him to slowly hold out an open hand and let her sniff it.

“She’s beautiful.” The tips of his fingers scratch the back of her ears, and her rolling purrs rumble against your chest.

You smile and kiss his cheek. “She’s ours.”

His soft eyes meet yours, and there’s tender awe in his voice as he murmurs, “You got me a cat.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

“Are you _insane_?”

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian closes his laptop perched on your legs, which are thrown across his lap. “I must be.” He leans forward to place the laptop on his coffee table and grabs the guitar from your hands to place on the stand Penn got you. “You obsess over the smallest things, you’re a blanket hogger.” He yanks your legs until you’re lying along the couch. Crawling between your legs, he hovers above you. “I find myself saying and doing the stupidest thing just to hear you laugh.” His voice softens as he thumbs your chin. “You can drive me insane with just one smile. You keep me on my toes.

“But most of all, despite the fact that _are you insane_ is your response to _will you move in with me_ , I still want all your shit crowding up the closet and your ass in my bed every night.”

You curb your smile, lest you encourage him. “As… romantic as that speech is… can we pause to discuss this?” You tug him down and press quick, reassuring kisses to his neck. “I love you.” You pause to take in his smile, the way it crinkles and gentles his eyes. “But we’ve only been dating for, what, four months?”

He nods. “I know on paper it’s soon.” He drops his forehead to yours. “But this feels right. I want to make an intentional step forward with us.”

“I do too,” you whisper. But is this the right time? “There’s still a lot we don’t know about each other, some things to work out. Like, what if I need some space to myself?” You gesture vaguely around you. “There’s nowhere for me to retreat.”

“So we’ll assign a place, and I promise to respect your personal space, and vice versa.” He pulls back with a blink. “You’re bringing up really good points, and we can figure some of them out along the way.” His expression softens. “Move in with me. Let me put up with you.”

You chuckle, bracing your hands on his waist. “You say the sweetest things.”

“Then what if we did it on a trial basis?”

“Like Chloe and Austin?”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

Things turned out well for them; Austin’s keeping the apartment clean and Chloe hasn’t complained once. Their relationship seems stronger.

“All right,” you say, fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. “A month?”

“Deal.”

You peck his lips, and he comes back for seconds.

A month and a week later, you’re on the couch and flipping through pictures Sebastian found in a box in his closet. Rosie, having abandoned the scratching post by the window, is exploring the piles of boxes you brought over from your apartment.

“Look at this,” Sebastian says.

You prop your chin on his shoulder as he holds up a photo from Spring Break, freshman year.

It’s the one Paige took of you and your friends. You’re squished between Jessica and Sebastian, who has his arm around your shoulders. Beside him, Chase’s hair is clinging together wetly and standing every which way, and Laura’s in the midst of throwing up blurry deuces. Your faces are caught in a laugh, except Sebastian’s. He’s forever caught looking at you from the corner of his eye, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Heat spreads from your chest as your heart races.

You’ve seen the photo before, but you hadn’t noticed his expression; barely even glanced at him because you were too busy zeroing in on your flaws made more obvious beside your fit, attractive friends.

“Crazy, huh?” Sebastian asks.

“Hmm?”

“How much we look the same.” He’s studying the picture, eyes a little squinty and the corners of his mouth tugged up.

“I don’t know…” You sit back. “You’re different.”

“Oh yeah.” He laughs. “You thought I was a dick.”

“You still are sometimes.” You take the photo from him and reach for the framed photo of you as a baby that Sebastian cooed over and teased you with for a good five minutes. You switch them out and approach the entertainment unit. It’s decorated with a mix of trinkets from your apartment and bric-a-brac from another box in his closet.

You place the Spring Break photo beside the one Sebastian’s mother took of you the day he met Rosie. It’s a candid capture of you cuddled up on the couch; you’re both smiling at each other, one of his eyes closed and his mouth stretched wide as Rosie stands on her hind legs between you, brushing her face against his.

Sebastian walks by and slaps your ass on the way to the kitchen. “You hungry?”

“Wanna go now? We can get something on the way.”

Jessica, Chase and Laura are coming over tonight for a little get-together, and besides unpacking, you need to stock up on some food.

“Yeah,” he calls, “gimme two.” He appears in the entryway between the living room and kitchen with a bag of cat food, where Rosie’s feeding station is set up. At the sound of her Blue Wilderness clinking into her metal bowl, Rosie pokes her head out of a box marked ‘towels’.

The trip to Costco takes two hours, only because Sebastian insists on lining up at every free sample stall. When you get home with arms full of food and bathroom products, Rosie greets you with meows, circling your legs and rubbing up on your calves.

It takes you the rest of the day to settle in, the natural light in the railroad apartment steadily retreating as you find homes for your things among Sebastian’s. Your playlist is blasting from the speakers on the entertainment unit, Sebastian trilling from the kitchen, to where you follow the smell of spaghetti.

He’s at the stove, a dish towel over a shoulder as he stirs the pot with a wooden spoon. Rosie’s sat on the counter beside him, pawing at the rising steam.

“Smells good,” you say.

He turns to flash you a smile, a cheek stained with red sauce in the shape of a paw.

You laugh.

“What?”

You shake your head as you approach, and wrap your arms around him. “Nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! This is the end. Thank you so much to everyone who showed their love, whether on tumblr or here. This story has been three years of my life, and I'd really love to know what you thought of this, so please do drop a line in the comments if you'd like.
> 
> I appreciate your reading and support these last seven weeks. Bye!

**Author's Note:**

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